


Winter's Wife

by RoseyPoseyPie



Series: Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Catholic Steve Rogers, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Female Clint Barton, Female Sam Wilson (Marvel), Female Steve Rogers, Female Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Lesbian Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Multi, Nonbinary Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 88,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseyPoseyPie/pseuds/RoseyPoseyPie
Summary: Stephanie Barnes is an overworked, single mother and the head of philanthropy for Stark Industries. Once upon a time, she was Captain America, and her stress came from fighting Nazis. Now, her stress comes from quarterly budget predictions, organizing fundraising benefits, and raising her son as best she can in her husband's memory. With haranguing from her friend, Toni Stark, Stephanie decides to take her mandated vacation days and go to Washington D.C. to see friends and visit museums.  Every possible thing that could go wrong on this vacation does go wrong, and Stephanie is left fighting for her life, facing enemies she thought she left in history. A mysterious assassin is making Stephanie feel things she hasn't felt since the death of her husband, which is quite inconvenient because he's trying to kill her.Stephanie will have to shatter the false security and misplaced optimism of the future and force everyone, including herself, to confront bitter, painful reality. And then, she will have to help rebuild.





	1. Trapeze

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a series. Therefore, it is highly recommended to read the series to understand better the changes made in this alternate universe.
> 
> I have a playlist for this work!
> 
> [Winter's Wife](https://8tracks.com/roseyposeypie/winter-s-wife?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button) from [RoseyPoseyPie](http://8tracks.com/roseyposeypie?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button) on [8tracks Radio](https://8tracks.com?utm_medium=referral&utm_content=mix-page&utm_campaign=embed_button).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> Welcome to the next installment in the AYCDICDB series, both to readers old and new!
> 
> I am so excited for Winter's Wife! It's one of the more ambitious adaptations so far (if the chapter count could indicate anything) and I'm eager to start publishing finally! There's a lot to look forward to in this fic, as only about half of it follows the events of CATWS, while the second half covers the aftermath. I will be sure to add additional tags when we get to the "aftermath" part because adding them now would provide too many spoilers for what's in store.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, the prologue:

 

Claire and Nat were standing on a Quinjet surrounded by STRIKE agents. As they flew over the Indian Ocean, STRIKE commander Brock Rumlow briefed them on the mission.

 

“The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, 93 minutes ago,” Rumlow explained.

 

“Any demands?” Nat questioned, eyes flicking over the intel on the monitor and the STRIKE team crammed into the Quinjet. They had the lead on this mission, Fury’s request. Their expression was absolutely stoic and unsettled even the most seasoned STRIKE operative. Rumlow avoided their gaze.

 

“Billion and a half,” he said.

 

“Why so steep?” They asked sharply as if accusing him of setting the price. Claire was trying not to smile too much, but this was Nat in their element, making grown men sweat in their  socks.

 

“Because it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s.”

 

“So, it’s not off-course, it’s trespassing,” Claire surmised.

 

“Let’s hope they have a good reason,” Nat said.

 

“Yeah,” Claire agreed. “We fought aliens, for chrissakes. We’re not janitors.”

 

“Well, at least it won’t be complicated,” Nat smiled.

 

“There are exactly twenty-five pirates on board,” Rumlow said heavily. Nat shrugged. “All top mercs, led by this man, Georges Batroc.” He pulled up an image. “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He's at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy's got a rep for maximum casualties.”

 

“Thirty-six, what a novice,” Nat rolled their eyes. Claire beamed. “Hostages?” Nat asked.

 

“Uh, mostly techs,” Rumlow said dismissively. “One officer, Jasper Sitwell.”

 

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” Claire signed to Nat. Rumlow stared at her hands hard as if he would suddenly know American Sign Language.

 

“I’ll ask later,” Nat signed quickly before turning back to Rumlow and ordering him with authority, “Alright, Claire and I are gonna sweep the deck and take out Batroc’s pirates since he scares you so much. Then I’ll kill the engines, and Claire’ll keep a lookout. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get 'em out. Casualties to a minimum, please, folks. We drop in five.”

 

“STRIKE, you heard Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow barked to his men. “Gear up!”

 

Nat and Claire stood as far away from the rest of STRIKE as they finished gearing up and setting up their communications.

 

“Secure channel seven,” Nat said into their wrist comms.

 

“Channel seven secure,” Claire said, tapping the comm extension on her hearing aids. “Hey, Nat, I was thinking about trying that Korean Fusion place.”

 

“What kind of fusion?” Nat asked. “Because you took us to a place that fused Malaysian and Italian and it screwed up my palette for a month.”

 

“It had good reviews on Yelp!” Claire protested.

 

“Yelp is evil, and you know it,” Nat said.

 

Claire noticed what the STRIKE agents were mouthing, and her expression turned sour. She signed to Nat, “STRIKE boys are talking crap about you.”

 

“Can I scare them?” Nat signed.

 

“Whatever makes you happy,” Claire signed back.

 

As they sniggered behind Nat, Nat turned around with an empty expression, wholly unreadable and excessively terrifying. They stopped sniggering. Nat turned back around to Claire and winked.

 

“Look, sorry, uh, Agent Romanoff,” One of them tried to say. “We’re new, and nobody said - and we, er, weren’t sure if you’re a guy or a girl.”

 

Nat rolled their eyes, “I’m an assassin.”

 

“Yeah, but, like-” the other spluttered. “What’s in your pants?”

 

“A lot of guns and even more knives,” Nat said. “Which I will use on you if you keep talking to me.”

 

They retreated.

 

“One of these days, you’d think they’d learn to shut up,” Nat signed.

 

“One of these days,” Claire repeated with a nod and a sympathetic expression. She put on a parachute.

 

“We’re over the drop zone,” Rumlow called.

 

Claire and Nat stepped forward and opened the offloading ramp, stepping out into the storm above the Lemurian Star and falling together through the air. Nat held onto Claire and pulled her  chute. When they were about a hundred feet from the deck of the Lemurian Star, they cut the chute and went back into freefall. Claire pulled out her bow and arrow, slipped an arrow out of her quiver, and launched it at the nearest mast which happened to connect to the satellite feeds an array. The shaft caught onto the grated bars while a cable connected to her harness. Nat clung to Claire, and they swung through the air like a pendulum. Nat dropped off of Claire and rolled across the deck, while Claire continued to swing. She activated the coil in her harness, and it pulled her to the mast where she perched and pulled her goggles over her eyes.

 

“I see fourteen onboard,” She said, looking at the heat signatures. “Three watching the hostages in the canteen. Six in the engine room. One in command.” She said.

 

“You’re missing one,” Nat said.

 

“I know,” Claire sighed.

 

“Let’s clear the deck,” Nat replied. “Who can’t you shoot from your perch?”

 

“The two beneath the landing pad, most notably,” Claire said. Nat set off in the shadows. Claire turned her attention to the pair patrolling beneath her. She notched an arrow and let it release. As it whizzed through the air, she pressed a button on her quiver, and the head exploded, a thin, wiry net trapped the two and the heavy magnets at the edges of the net kept them from getting out. A field of electricity buzzed across the net and they seized into silence. She launched two more arrows, taking out the sniper in the watchtower and patrolling above the navigation room.

 

Nat was crouched behind a box beneath the landing pad, looking at the men a few yards ahead.

 

“Count again,” Nat whispered.

 

“I took out four, five onboard still active, two in your area,” Claire said.

 

“Three in my area found your missing man,” Nat whispered. Two men were standing so close together that from Claire’s angle, they would look like one figure.

 

“Oh, I think I see what you mean,” Claire said. “I just thought it was one big guy from my angle. Is three too much for you, Nattie?”

 

“Shut up,” Nat hissed. “Are you using lethal?”

 

“STRIKE recommended,” Claire said.

 

Nat pulled out a silenced pistol and rolled from behind one box to another, checking that the guards weren’t moving. They pulled their gun out when satisfied with their position and let off one shot. All three guards dropped.

 

“Triple headshot!” Claire whooped.

 

“These pirates need to work on their spacing. It’s embarrassing,” Nat sighed.

 

“Seven left,” Claire said. “One on patrol, three at portside, three at starboard. Looks like they’re watching the water. Both sides are a bad angle from here, they’re covered from the gunwale  down.”

“I’ll go starboard,” Nat said. “You got portside. Patrol boy is a wildcard.”

 

“Exciting,” Claire said. Another cable arrow latched onto a catwalk above the covered portside. She used her bow to zip and roll onto it. They each stood at a lifeboat dock, looking out over the water, far enough apart she couldn’t pull of Nat’s triple kill but with limited space between the internal stairwells and the portside of the ship that it wouldn’t be a hard kill laterally. Claire grabbed three arrows and flipped off of the catwalk silently. The first one was notched while the other two arrows were in her draw hand, one between her middle and ring fingers and one between her ring finger and pinkie. She aimed, released. The closest one dropped. Pulled, aimed, released, the second one barely had a chance to turn around before the arrow went through his head. Pulled, aimed, released. The third one started to lift his gun but never got a shot off. Claire lowered her bow.

 

Nat also found themself the starboard catwalk, where the three guards were each protecting a lifeboat dock, their guns trained at the water in case a rescue ship came into view. They checked their grappling line, decided that the length was sufficient, and walked on the catwalk above to the middle lifeboat. Nat placed the grappling anchor in the grating above the raft and pushed off, rappelling straight down and grabbing the middle guard as they passed him, pulling him down with them. They stopped ten feet below the starboard railing, Nat’s grappling line fully extended. He squirmed in Nat’s grasp, so they tased him with one of their gauntlets and dropped him into the water. Above, the two other guards were looking around, realizing that their buddy mysteriously disappeared. Nat readied a pistol in each hand and recoiled their grappling line. As they shot up, they swung forward, cut the cord, extended their arms, landed, and shot the other two guards before they could call it in.

 

“I was faster,” Claire said over the comms.

 

“I had more fun,” Nat replied. “Where’s the wildcard?”

 

“He went back to Command. We should call in STRIKE, external is all clear.”

 

“And the boys’ triggers are probably itching,” Nat agreed. A minute later, the five STRIKE agents landed on the deck. Nat and Claire met them.

 

“And the ones inside have no idea?” Rumlow asked.

 

“We’re that good,” Claire shrugged.

 

“I’ll secure the engine room,” Nat said. “Claire, you got command?”

 

“Yep,” Claire said. “The rest of you, hostages. Pronto. Minimum casualties. The whole shebang.” She and Nat walked ahead of STRIKE as they split off to mobilize in the canteen. “You never answered me about the Korean Fusion place.”

 

“We're not having this conversation now,” Nat said, jumping off the side railing of the deck level and dropping a story to the engine room entrance with ease. Claire sighed and ran toward the stairwell leading up to the ship’s command. She launched off the railing, rotating and pushing off the wall on her right, then she pushed off again to the next level’s fence, and continued to tic-tac until she was right below the windows of command. She pulled out an arrow and let it hit the window. As it latched on, the shaft fell away, and the listening device stayed attached and linked to the comms.

 

“I don’t like waiting,” A male voice said in French. “Call Durand. I want the ship ready to move when the ransom arrives.”

 

“Yes, Batroc,” The second man said. There was a sound of a phone clicking as it was taken off of the wall. “Start the engines,” he said.

 

Below, in the engine room, a man answered the call from Command. “Okay,” He said. He turned around to see Nat standing in front of him, “Hey sailor,” Nat said with a flirtatious nod, but their eyes were completely dead. Nat kicked the man’s knee, and it snapped. He roared in pain. They wrapped the remnants of their grappling line around his neck, silencing him, and tied it with a sharp knot. Then, they jumped off the railing with a flip and repelled the rest of the way down, anchored by the man’s neck. Nat shot two guards as they passed through the stairwell, landed on the shoulders of one, twisted until the neck snapped, and shot the two remaining men standing below him through the grating.

 

Claire was crouched on a platform level with command but a few hundred yards away. “STRIKE in position,” Rumlow said over comms.

 

“Nat, what’s your status?” Claire asked.

 

“Just a minute!” Nat called. There was something wrong. Rumlow said twenty-five. The twenty-five were accounted for. But there were three more in the engine room. This was not good. Since when did STRIKE get subpar intel? One guy, she could understand. But three? That was a fireable offense at S.H.I.E.L.D. Either way, time for Nat to take out three more guys. Nat ran at the closest man. He turned around just in time for them to leap onto his chest, hold on with their knees, and tase him with their widow bites as he went down. Nat rolled over him and stood up, a man ran around the corner and toward them, pistol out. They stepped to the side, grabbed his wrist with one hand, and pushed his elbow the wrong way with the other. It snapped, and he dropped the gun. Nat kicked him in the side, then dropped down and swept his legs. The third man was behind them. They rolled and kicked the gun out of his hands. He pushed them, blocking them, and wrapped his arms around their waist. Nat elbowed him in the face, wrapped one arm around the back of his neck, and rolled forward again, his head cracked as it hit the metal floor. Nat sprung up, “Engine room secure.” The one that Nat swept tried to stand. They picked up a piece of pipe and whipped him across the face with it. “Call it, Hawkeye.”

 

“Alright,” Claire said. “On my mark. Three, two, one.” One blown door and three gunshots later, the hostages were secure.

 

“Hello?” Batroc asked the comms.

 

“The line just went dead,” The other man in the command room said. Nat stood up and readied an arrow with a reinforced tip. She aimed it at Batroc from her platform. “I’ve lost contact with them.” She released the arrow. Batroc, realizing that they had been taken over and were likely being attacked, dropped to the floor and made a run for it. The arrow whizzed through the air and went through the head of the other guy in the command room standing right behind him. Oh, well, technically, Claire didn’t miss.

 

“Hostages en route to extraction,” Rumlow said.

 

“I’m going after Batroc,” Claire declared.

 

“Romanoff missed the rendezvous point,” Rumlow warned.

 

Claire switched to the private comms the pair never went into a mission without, “Nat?”

 

“Fury’s orders. Also, Rumlow miscounted. Since when does STRIKE miscount?” Nat asked. “This is weird. You sure you got Batroc?”

 

“Yeah,” Claire said. “I’m sure.”

 

“Logging out,” Nat said. Claire also switched back to the general line. She looked around for a heat signature. She saw Nat doing something in the logistics room. She saw STRIKE leading the hostages to the starboard lifeboats. She saw Batroc sprinting across the deck toward the hangar, checking behind him all the while. She stayed low and high, launching her last cable arrow into the track of the bay doors for the hangar. She swung. Batroc saw her at the last moment, seconds before each of her feet collided with his chest and sent him flying and skidding backward several feet into the hangar. Claire’s pendulum continued, and she grabbed onto one of the overhead light fixtures with her knees, watching Batroc below her. Batroc clamored to his feet and looked around, but not up. He must have decided that his best option was to close the hangar doors. As they slammed on the arrow, she drew the cable back toward her. She couldn’t relaunch it very easily, but she could tie it to the light fixture. Now, he was closed in a room with her. She was tied to the ceiling. She had been a carnival performer and trapeze artist for a decade. This was not going to end well for him.

 

He walked around the room, looking around, but never up. She held onto her bow and gave the cable slack, dropping down. She swung, building up momentum until she twisted in his direction and went in for a kick. Batroc must have realized at the last second where she was because he grabbed her legs and as they swung through the hangar, sending her veering off course. They slammed into a wall He grabbed onto a pipe. She kneed him in the face and pushed off, swinging back. He grabbed onto the pipes and started to scale down the wall. Claire mounted the opposite wall, ran along it, and turned in a wide arc around the hangar, kicking Batroc again in the head. He lost his grip on the pipes and feel a few feet before grabbing again and safely getting to the ground 

 

Claire continued to swing. As she was a pendulum in the air, she shifted her position, wrapping her knees around the bow rod and so her arms were free. She swung in wide oscillations, pushing off against the walls to continuously change her arc. Batroc finally pulled a knife and ran toward the bottom of her swing. As he slashed at where she would have ended up, she recoiled the cable to pull her higher and got out of the way, losing momentum in the process. She swung back down almost immediately, feeding the length again and she grabbed Batroc by the harnesses of his tactical vest. He flailed and kicked, trying to get them off balance, and he was doing a good job too, the light fixture above was groaning with their combined weight. Claire again recoiled the cable attached to her bow, and she dragged Batroc to the ceiling with her, until they were about a hundred feet from the ground. Any smarter man would have stopped flailing and begged for mercy. Batroc did not. So Claire let go. There was a nasty sound as he hit the ground. Then she heard something crackling above her. The wires of the light fixture could hold on no longer. And she fell. The good news? She landed on Batroc and broke most of her fall. The bad news? The snapping sound and pain that flared from the ankle up meant that she probably broke something.

 

“Aw, leg,” She groaned.

 

“Agent Barton?” Rumlow asked.

 

“I took Bartoc out,” Claire said, rolling off of his body. If the squelching and the puddle indicated anything, he was very dead. “But I got a bit of an ouchie.”

 

“I got her,” Nat crackled over comms. “You get the hostages to safety.”

 

“Agent Romanoff-”

 

“That’s an order, Rumlow,” Nat said.

 

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, sir. I mean- I’ll shut up.”

 

* * *

 

 

The good news was that it was a clean break. The bad news was that Claire wasn’t allowed in the field for a month while she recovered. The good news was that Fury told her she could just have a vacation. She was gonna spend a whole month on the couch in Bed-Stuy, it was gonna be awesome. Nat promised to drive her to New York after they delivered the package to Fury. While Claire was swinging around with Batroc and STRIKE was saving hostages, Nat backed up the intel on the Lemurian Star onto a USB flash drive. 

 

“Your present, Fury,” They said, setting it down on his desk.

 

“Thank you, Romanoff,” Fury said. “Will Barton be alright?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Nat smiled. “She’s looking forward to her medically sanctioned R&R.”

 

“Well, you could also use a vacation,” Fury said.

 

“I’m driving her to New York, that’s vacation enough for me,” Nat replied. “I do have a concern, sir, about the last mission.”

 

“Really?” Fury asked.

 

“The numbers were wrong,” Nat said. “I’ve worked with STRIKE operatives for five years now, if they know how to do anything, it’s how to count.”

 

“How many did they say?” Fury asked.

 

“Twenty-five,” Nat said.

 

“How many were there?” Fury asked.

 

“Twenty-eight,” Nat answered.

 

Fury nodded, “I want to show you something, Romanoff.”

 

“Sure, sir,” Nat said, following him onto the elevator.

 

“Insight bay,” Fury said.

 

“Agent Romanoff does not have clearance for Project Insight,” the computer said.

 

“Temporary level ten clearance level,” Fury said. Nat was surprised, not that they let it show. “Director Override. Fury, Nicholas J.”

 

“Confirmed,” the computer said. The elevator started to roll down.

 

Fury looked around at the elevator with a strangely reminiscent expression, “My grandfather operated one of these things for forty years.” Fury said. Nat pretended that they weren’t bewildered about what was going on or why such a thing was relevant. “My granddad worked in a nice building, he got good tips. He'd walk home every night, a roll of ones stuffed in his lunch bag. He'd say ‘hi’ people would say ‘hi’ back. Time went on, the neighborhood got rougher. He'd say ‘hi,’ they'd say, ‘keep on steppin’.’ Granddad got to grippin' that lunch bag a little tighter.”

 

“He ever get mugged?” Nat asked, unsure what else to say.

 

“Every week, some punk would go, ‘what’s in the bag?’”

 

“And?”

 

“He’d show ‘em. A bunch of crumpled ones and a loaded .22 Magnum.” The doors of the elevator opened and they stepped into the Insight bay. Nat saw as there were three helicarriers in the final stages of construction, “Yeah, I know, they’re a little bigger than a .22.” Fury said. He stepped out. Nat followed. “This is Project Insight. Three next-generation Helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites.”

 

“Launched from the Lemurian Star,” Nat guessed.

 

“Once we get them in the air they never need to come down. Continuous suborbital flight courtesy of our new repulsor engines.”

 

“Stark?” Nat asked.

 

“Well, she had a few suggestions once she got an up-close look at the turbines. These new long-range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. We gonna neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen.” Fury said, sounding like he was reading from a teleprompter if anything. Something weird sat in Nat’s stomach. “You don’t look impressed.”

 

“Just a bit confused,” Nat said. “I thought the punishment came after the crime.”

 

“We can’t afford to wait that long,” Fury said.

 

“Who’s ‘we’?” Nat asked.

 

“After New York, I convinced the World Security Council we needed a quantum surge in threat analysis. For once we're way ahead of the curve,” Fury said.

 

“You convinced the World Security Council, or they yapped at you for discontinuing Phase Two because Captain America got pissy?” Nat asked. Fury’s expression had a slight furrow of the brow. The second one. So, why was Fury obviously lying? Clearly, he needed to be seen saying these things to somebody, somebody who could get a read on what he was saying was true. About twelve different alarms in Nat’s head were blaring. “To be fair, sir, Captain America’s going to get pissy about this too.”

 

“Well,” Fury said. “S.H.I.E.L.D. takes the world as it is, not as we want it to be. It’s time for Captain America to get with that program. Besides, she lost her right to have an opinion when she decided not to join S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“She’s gonna have one anyway,” Nat said. “And I can guess what it’s gonna be, and I might not completely disagree, being honest, sir.” Fury looked at Nat meaningfully. Something was wrong.

 

“You should take Barton home,” Fury said. “And you should take some R&R for yourself. You did a good job, Romanoff.” Nat could tell that everything he had just said was somehow laced with something else. They committed his entire conversation to memory and then nodded.

 

“Will do, sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Please, let me know your thoughts about this first chapter/prologue! What are you looking forward to in the future? Hopefully, you're as excited as I am for what's in store!
> 
> See you next chapter! :)


	2. Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you for your incredible response to the last chapter!
> 
> Just a bit of an update, I've decided to turn on comment moderation because I've seen some unfortunate behavior on this site in the past few days and I wanted to handle it proactively. Nothing has really changed, it just may take a bit longer between when you comment and when it appears on this fic. As always, you're welcome to say whatever you want, including constructive criticism, as long as it is all done respectfully and in good faith.
> 
> Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter:

 

Stephanie was in the elevator on her way down to pick up her son, James Barnes, from daycare, when Toni rushed in after her.

 

“Going somewhere?” She asked.

 

“Needed to talk to you,” Toni said.

 

“Wedding stuff again?” Stephanie asked.

 

“No,” Toni said. “Um, actually, there’s a problem. With you. You started working here a year and a half ago, and in that time, you have used zero sick days and negative two vacation days.”

 

“Negative two?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Well, I counted the days you came into work on a national holiday as negative vacation days,” Toni said.

 

“What’s the problem?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Look, legally, and this is why I had my lawyers yelling at me for the last thirty minutes, you have to go on vacation. I was on your side, alright! I love work! But, um, they do have a point. You are really addicted to your job.”

 

The elevator opened on the level with the daycare and Stephanie continued her familiar route to where she would pick up James.

 

“So?” Stephanie asked. “Are you forcing me to go on vacation?”

 

“Yep!” Toni said. “Five days. I could arrange my private jet. Ever been to Bora Bora?”

 

“If I’m not allowed to do work, I’ll just stay at home with James and take him to the zoo and the museum,” Stephanie said.

 

“See, you’re trading in one job for another there, Steph. Look, answer me, honestly. Since James was born, have you had a single day off that you weren't either a full-time mom, or a career mom, or Captain America?” Toni asked. Stephanie was quiet. “See, that isn’t healthy for, like, your sanity. You need a vacation. From everything. This job. Your son-”

 

“I love my son,” Stephanie said, stopping in front of the entrance to the daycare.

 

“And it’s adorable, and he’s adorable, who wouldn’t love little Jimmy?” Toni asked. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not, sometimes, stressful. Anyway, as your boss, you can’t come to work for the rest of the week. And as your friend, Pepper and I would be happy to watch James so you could go somewhere and have some fun. Maybe call up your defense lawyer girlfriend and go to Paris or something.”

 

“Bernie and I are just friends, and she’s busy,” Stephanie said.

 

“Well, if you asked out the receptionist, Jodie, she’d probably say yes,” Toni said.

 

“I don’t need a date,” Stephanie said. “Or a vacation.”

 

“Two days, Cap, take two days off!” Toni begged. “Go to D.C., they have a lot of cool museums, and I know you love museums. There’s a Captain America exhibit now at the Smithsonian, that could either be really fun or really traumatic. And the national galleries are cool. You could see Sam! And Peggy! Please! Just take care of yourself! I’m getting, like, sympathy stress for you.”

 

Stephanie sighed. She knew Toni was guilt tripping her and she knew Toni was doing it well. “If I leave to D.C. tonight and come back on Sunday, can you and Pepper watch James?”

 

“We would be very, very happy to watch Jimmy Joe,” Toni said. “And I can get you a last minute suite reservation at the Ritz-Carlton, I know some people.”

 

“I’m fine staying at a La Quinta-”

 

“I cannot allow that, Stephanie,” Toni said. “You are a national icon and my close friend. You get a five-star hotel.”

 

“Don’t get me the biggest one,” Stephanie begged. “And let me pay for it.”

 

“Okay,” Toni said. “Does that mean you’ll go on vacation?”

 

“Ugh, fine, but first we have to swing by the apartment so that I can pack my things and James’ things,” Stephanie said. “I’ll be back in three hours to drop him off and brief you on his needs.”

 

“Brief us on his needs? He’s a toddler,” Toni said.

 

“He’s a toddler with enhanced, superhuman abilities,” Stephanie said. “You will need a briefing.”

 

“Three hours,” Toni agreed. “I’ll set up your reservation and tickets in the meantime. Plane or train?”

 

“A plane is fine,” Stephanie said.

 

“Use my jet,” Toni said. “Pepper and I aren’t making any trips this week.”

 

“Fine.” Stephanie sighed.

 

“You’re gonna have fun!” Toni exclaimed. “You’re gonna have a great time, and you’re gonna come back rejuvenated!”

 

“Let’s hope because I really don’t want you to force me to do this again,” Stephanie said. Toni accepted that, heading back to the elevator. Stephanie finally entered the daycare. James was playing with some of the other toddlers. She stood by the sign-out table and watched him with a smile on her face. He and his friends were playing with dolls.

 

James picked up the plastic tub full of plastic dinosaurs and threw them in the air. The kids with the barbies screamed and had the dolls run around. He picked up a T-Rex and roared. “I wiw stomp on you!”

 

Oh no!” A little girl said. “The dinosaurs!”

 

“No!” The barbies screamed. “Help us!”

 

“The Avengers!” Another kid exclaimed, throwing an Iron Maiden doll into the mix. It hit the ground and skidded across the foam play mats. Then Black Widow and Hawkeye were launched through the air.

 

“It’s the Valkyrie!” a girl exclaimed, holding up a Thordis doll. “Thunder!” She picked up four dinosaurs and flung them in the air, whacking them with the Thordis doll as if she was a baseball bat.

 

“Hulk Smash!” A little boy with a Hulk doll said, having the Hulk pummel a stegosaurus.

 

“Hey!” A daycare worker exclaimed. “I thought it was cleanup time?”

 

“Where’s Captain America?” A Barbie asked.

 

“She’s there!” A little girl gaped, pointing at Stephanie. They screamed in glee. Stephanie walked over. “You, you hafta help us,” the girl said. “James has evil dinosaurs.”

 

“Evil dinosaurs? Oh gosh, you know something? Evil dinosaurs have one weakness.”

 

“What?” All the kids asked with wide eyes.

 

“We need to put them in this,” She held up the plastic tub, “And put the force field on it.” She held up the lid. “Can we do this? Can we defeat the dinosaurs?”

 

“Yes!” They exclaimed.

 

“Mommy,” James said. “Can I hewp defeat the dinosauws?”

 

“You released them from their prison!” A girl said.

 

“Well,” Stephanie said. “Sometimes, people make mistakes, and release evil dinosaurs when they don’t mean to.”

 

“I’m sowwy,” James said. “Can I hewp?”

 

“Yes,” Stephanie said.

 

And together, the children put the dinosaurs away.

 

“Thank you,” Stephanie told the children. “New York is safer because of you.” The children beamed around her. “Now, I have to take James home.”  She picked him up and grabbed his backpack out of his cubby.

 

“Bye, bye, James!” they called.

 

“Bye!” James waved at his friends.

 

Stephanie held James as she walked to the subway, and took a train home to Park Slope. Once they reached Grand Army Plaza and started walking the familiar route back to the apartment, she explained to her son that she was going on a vacation. “It’s like one of my work trips, except my job is to have fun. So I’m going to be gone for a few days, and Aunt Toni and Aunt Pepper are going to take care of you at Toni’s tower. And, I promise, next vacation, you’re coming with me,” Stephanie said.

 

“I don’t wike it,” James said. “Can’t you have fun at home?”

 

“I can, Bubba,” Stephanie said. “But sometimes, it’s important to have fun somewhere that isn’t at home. But, don’t worry, I’ll buy you some presents in D.C. to make it up to you. Okay, sweetie?”

 

“Okay,” James said. He helped Stephanie make sure that they packed all his favorite books and activities for when he went to stay with Toni and Pepper. Stephanie made sure he had enough clothes for a few days. She also packed herself a suitcase full of clothing. She and James then took a cab back to Stark Tower, so she didn’t have to wrangle suitcases on the subway, and arrived up at the penthouse three hours after she had spoken to Toni. While Toni showed James where he would be staying, Stephanie gave Pepper the complete rundown on James. What he liked to eat, what he hated, the fact that he was in a picky eater stage right now and would often turn up his nose at an entire meal for one minor offense, his only clue to what he didn’t like was his repetitive use of the phrase: “I don’t wike it.” She explained his bedtime routine, his bathing routine, and what developmental milestones he was working on, potty training being the most important. He could use a toilet while awake with supervision but needed a diaper for bed absolutely.

 

“He likes books before bed. I usually end up reading ten or fifteen to him. Picture books, so far. He can’t read yet, so he needs the pictures for a visual stimulant. If he has a nightmare, he will want to sleep with you,” Stephanie said. “You need to sing him to sleep if that happens. He also might get a sensory overload if the television is too loud, the lights are too bright, or there’s a sensation he doesn’t like. It’s because of the serum, he’s incredibly sensitive, and it’s hard for his little developing brain to cope with all the stimuli he receives. He needs his sleep to process all of that information: At least eight hours through the night and an hour or two in the middle of the day, usually after lunch. And he’s already eating two thousand calories a day, so just prepare to give him proper meals. If you’re having trouble getting him to eat something, there’s those nutritionist chocolate drinks with plenty of vitamins. He’ll drink about three at a time. And, uh, I guess that’s everything. If anything goes wrong-”

 

“We’ll call,” Pepper promised. “Enjoy your vacation.”

 

Toni brought James back out to say goodbye to Stephanie.

 

“James,” Stephanie said. “You be good, okay?”

 

“Pwomise, Mommy,” James said. “I’m gonna be the bestest.”

 

“I love you, Bubba,” Stephanie said, kissing him. She stood up. He gazed up at her with his wide, steel-blue eyes. She felt a rush of sadness and affection, but let it pass, and headed to the elevator.

 

* * *

 

 

She landed in D.C. and took a cab to the Ritz-Carlton. Toni had set her up in the Presidential Suite. It was basically an entire apartment. Entering, there was a dining room to the right and a small bathroom to the left. Walking further in, there was a living space with three couches and a large television. Past the double french doors was a king-sized bed with a walk-in closet and a marble bathroom that had a separate bath and shower. She set her bags in the bedroom and went to a quick middle-eastern place near Dupont Circle. She went back to her room, watched television from the huge bed, and set an early alarm for the morning.

 

She could have called Sam, but she wanted to surprise her friend. She knew for a fact that Sam liked to run, always training for a marathon she never ran. And she knew her favorite route was around the National Mall with a detour around the tidal basin. So, that morning, she got off a train at the corner of Constitution Avenue and 17th Street and started running. It took two laps before she saw the familiar woman jogging in a grey sweatshirt with green running shorts just out front of the Lincoln Memorial. She drew back slightly and paced past her, “On your left!” She called out. It took a moment.

 

“Stephanie!?” Sam exclaimed

 

Stephanie laughed, turned around and ran backward, waved at Sam, and then turned forward again and kept running, rushing ahead until she was out of sight. Now, not even she could lap the entire national mall in a reasonable amount of time, but it would be funny if Sam thought she could. So, when she ran down Ohio Drive, instead of splitting off along the East Basin Drive in front of the Jefferson Memorial, she continued down Ohio Drive, cut across Buckeye Drive, and hit East Basin Drive right behind Sam. “On your left!” She yelled, sprinting past her.

 

“You’re a little shit!” Sam yelled. Stephanie kept laughing and running along the edge of the Tidal basin. Instead of heading along Jefferson Drive, she ran past the Washington Memorial and east on Constitution before going back to Jefferson and lapping Sam in front of the Air and Space Museum.

 

“Don’t say it!” Sam yelled.

 

Stephanie slowed down to barely a jog. “Hey, Sam.”

 

“Hey, Stephanie,” Sam said.

 

“Guess what,” Stephanie said.

 

“What?” Sam asked through gritted teeth.

 

“On your left!” Stephanie cackled, sprinting ahead.

 

“Oh, come on!” Sam yelled sprinting after her but barely making any headway. Stephanie did lap the National Mall, to come across Sam panting hard against a tree on the corner of Madison Avenue and 7th Street.

 

“Hi,” Stephanie said, standing in front of her.

 

“I really hate you,” Sam said. “How are you here? Did you run all the way from Brooklyn?”

 

Stephanie laughed. “Maybe. Do you need a medic?”

 

“I need, like, a new pair of lungs, Steph,” Sam panted. “You just ran, like, thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

 

“Guess I got a late start then,” Stephanie shrugged.

 

“Oh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself. Go take another lap,” Sam said. She bowed her head between her knees and looked back up at Stephanie, “Did you just take it? I assume you took it?” She laughed. “What are you doing in D.C.?”

 

“I’ve been banished from New York,” Stephanie said. “According to Toni, I’ve taken negative two vacation days, and I’m on a boss-mandated vacation for the rest of the week.”

 

“And you thought, hey, if I’m not allowed to be New York’s biggest workaholic - a considerable feat - I’ll just go annoy my ol’ buddy ol’ pal Sam Wilson?”

 

“Something like that,” Stephanie smiled.

 

“Good to see you,” Sam said. Stephanie pulled her to her feet. “So you’re here until Sunday?”

 

“That’s the plan,” Stephanie said.

 

“Who’s watching Jimbob?” Sam asked.

 

“Toni and Pepper,” Stephanie said.

 

“So, they’re using him for baby practice?” Sam asked.

 

Steph laughed, “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Well, hey, it’s great you’re here,” Sam said. “I’m busy today and tomorrow — my job. But, we can hang this weekend. And I could probably grab dinner tonight.”

 

“Yeah?” Stephanie grinned. “Great.”

 

“So, what’re you gonna do today?” Sam asked.

 

“Oh, museums, probably,” Stephanie said. “Art. History. I like those things. I was gonna try to see Peggy.”

 

“Where are you staying?” Sam asked.

 

“Ritz-Carlton,” Stephanie said. “One of the suites.”

 

“Damn, your place is probably nicer than mine,” Sam said. “I’m renting a townhouse just outside Logan Circle. I’ll text you the address later. You can come over. I’ll make lasagna. Or should I pick you up? Since I have a car?”

 

“It’s fine, just text me,” Stephanie grinned.

 

“I, uh, I gotta get ready for work,” Sam said. “Hey, if you wanna swing by the VA, you’d make me awesome in front of the girl at the front desk. Just let me know.”

 

Stephanie nodded, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie went back to her room to change into something inconspicuous but well put together in case someone recognized her. She packed a sketchbook and a pack of pencils in her bag, and she headed to the national mall again, this time, to sightsee. She sketched the Lincoln Memorial and then took a long walk through the Korean war memorial, John Ericsson Memorial, Martin Luther King Jr. memorial, FDR memorial, and Thomas Jefferson memorial. She visited the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, read every plaque and every exhibit with a rapt fascination, made her way stoically through the entire museum, and then spent about half an hour sobbing in the lobby when she finished her lonely tour. She visited the Smithsonian castle, Smithsonian Museum of African Art, and the National Gallery of Art. She walked two blocks over to get something quick to eat before reaching the Air and Space Museum, which was boasting its new Captain America exhibit. They wanted to put her in the Museum of American History, but they didn’t have the room. And she did technically fly a plane once, only to then crash it into the ocean.

 

“A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice.” The narrator said over the speakers as she stepped inside. On the doors to the exhibit, inscribed in the glass, were excerpts of the speech President Ellis had given a few days after she announced she was alive. Inside, the room was split with information on her early life with blown-up photographs. There she was on her wedding day, the photo taken in the Barnes living room in front of the fireplace. They had borrowed a Kodak from some neighbors to take that picture. Stephanie of the past was beaming, hand in hand with her husband, moments after they had become man and wife. She stared at his face for a very long time. The exhibit changed to her time at Stark Industries, with copies of her sketches for Howard.

 

Then there was a comparison of her before and after the serum. “Due to her chronic poor health, Stephanie Barnes became a candidate for an experimental medical procedure. One that would transform her into the world’s first superhero,” The narrator explained. Before, a picture of her sitting at a desk somewhere in Stark Industries. It was a black and white image, of course, but Stephanie knew that her dress was gray and her gloves were white. Her hair was tied back in a neat roll, and she had wire glasses perched on her nose. _Pre-Serum:_ _4’10”_ the panel read. _85 lbs_. Then there was a picture of her in her WAC uniform, towering above several of the showgirls. _Post-Serum: 5’10”_ it said. _190 lbs._

 

Children were comparing their heights to the colorized panels of her pre and post serum, seeing how much taller or shorter they were than Captain America. A boy with her shield on his t-shirt looked up at her, recognizing her despite the glasses and baseball cap. She smiled at him and placed her finger to her lips. He nodded. She looked at the images of her during her tour. Some propaganda posters, the original First Officer America movie poster, a picture of her and the WAC girls in uniform, smiling at the camera. Then there she was helping clean up bombed parts of London. There she was giving rations and warm clothes to men at the front lines. There she was hefting a dented hubcap, in her stained WAC uniform with a frayed skirt and chunky boots, walking alongside Bucky and ahead of four hundred men. _While on tour in Azzano, Italy, Cpt. Barnes’ heroically saved 163 members of the 107th infantry and 421 men in total - including her husband, Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes._ Her hand drifted over Bucky’s name as she passed it on the wall.

 

She walked through the rotunda of her heroism as Captain America. Projectors on the walls cycled through clips of the war newsreels. Her leading men into battle, blowing up tanks, accepting flowers from children. “In this rare footage,” The narrator announced, “Everyone’s favorite heroine, Captain America-” A replica of her old motorcycle made her reconsider not having a bike for two seconds. Then motherhood reminded her why she didn’t have one. The focal point of the room was the recreation of her, the Howling Commandos, and their uniforms, behind a protective layer of glass. The uniform her mannequin was wearing was one of her backup uniforms Howard had made. After she destroyed the first one a week in, he made five more, but he probably made thirty in total throughout her active period. Between her mannequin’s hand was her shield. The real shield, Vibranium and all. She felt a museum was the most fitting place for it. Standing beside her mannequin was Bucky’s in a shockingly good replica of his dark blue peacoat. Behind him, diagonally, were the five men in the Howling Commandos. Dugan, Falsworth, Gabe, Dernier, and Morita. Behind her, diagonally, where the five girls. Georgie, Leah, Ruthie, Angela, and Christine. “Battle-tested, Captain America and her Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission, taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division,” The narrator announced.

 

Stephanie turned around and was confronted with her husband’s face. He was staring at her with scrutiny, glowering in the way war had taught him. She could hear him in her head, “Really, Steph? You’re still moping over me, doll?” She could feel him as if he was standing beside her.

 

She closed her eyes, “You’re dead.” she whispered. His presence and his voice left her.

 

She looked at the words on the exhibit:

 

_When Bucky Barnes first met Stephanie Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know he was forging a bond that would blossom into one of the most revered love stories in modern history, one that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond._

 

_Born March 1917, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after Pearl Harbor-_

 

That was a lie. He had been drafted under that Wadsworth Act. She remembered in painful detail the day that he got his letter.

 

_-After winter training at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, and torture-_

 

Stephanie’s mind flashed back to that lab in the deep trenches of the Hydra facility. The smell of vomit, blood, and piss that permeated. The worn leather straps, the glazed look in Bucky’s eye. Above him, a series of needles connected to tubes. Howard said he only found traces of sedatives in the container that Stephanie took, but she just took one tube. She turned back to the frosted white text.

 

- _But his will was strong. Upon hearing of his fate, his wife, Captain Stephanie Barnes, led a one-woman liberation effort and saved him and the rest of the 107th from Hydra._

 

 _Reunited, Captain and Sergeant Barnes led Captain America’s newly founded integrated unit, The Howling Commandos. Bucky Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as the team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater_.

 

_Bucky Barnes: 1917-1945_

 

She looked down at the screen beside his memorial plaque, playing clips from the various newsreels of the couple. The pair of them bent over a map; sides flushed together. She drew lines with her finger while the rest of the Commandos watched and nodded, and he looked at her like she hung the goddamn moon. Then the clip switched, she and him being interviewed in front of a brick wall. His henley was unbuttoned all the way, exposing his collarbones, his tags, and the sparse and coarse dark hair on his chest. He was trying to explain something to the camera, took one look at Stephanie’s stupid grin, and started shaking with laughter. The clip changed again, the two of them walking side by side. There was blood staining his upper pant leg, and so he leaned on her for support. She was holding her side and was leaning on him as well. She tilted her head close to his, and they whispered together, she was concerned, and he was concerned. They were both determined. She pressed a quick kiss to the side of his dirty face and kept walking.

 

“Best friends since childhood,” The narrator said. “Bucky Barnes eventually married Stephanie Rogers in spite of religious taboos. The two were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes was the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

 

Stephanie pulled away and toward one of the smaller projector alcoves, watching interviews of her old friends from a carpeted bench. Peggy appeared, with her brown eyes and sharp voice. The bottom of the screen read _Agent Peggy Carter, former SSR. 1953_. She was telling the story of Stalingrad, “-That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Stephanie...Captain Barnes, she fought her way through a HYDRA blockade that had pinned our allies down for months. She outsmarted them taking advantage of the poor communications and visibility of the weather, and led half of the blockade off a cliff. She saved over a thousand men in one day. It was only a few days after she did it that the mission was officially sanctioned. But that’s the woman she was. She was brilliant, and she rarely followed the rules because, in those days, they weren’t ready for a woman like her.” And then the video switched back to fifteen minutes of Dugan.

 

Stephanie shook her head. Yeah, Dugan was great, but this exhibit needed more of Peggy in it. After all, who led the Howling Commandos after Stephanie crashed into the ocean? Who helped make sure Stephanie got the serum? Who did Stephanie love, besides her husband? Peggy.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re complaining about being forced to go on vacation,” Peggy said from where she was lying in bed. It was a borderline day, the nurses had told her.

 

“You know me, workaholic,” Stephanie said. “I, to be honest, I know it’s a bit much. But, it keeps me sane, being productive. Helping people. Doing what I should.”

 

“You’ve saved the world enough for two lifetimes,” Peggy said. “We were the ones who mucked it up,” Peggy said. “Have I ever told you about Operation-”

 

“Paperclip, yeah,” Steph nodded. “Yeah, you told me about it. And I forgave you.”

 

Peggy was quiet for a moment, deliberating on her response. “Done anything fun?” Peggy asked.

 

“Well, I went to the World War Two Memorial, and I cried. I went to the Holocaust Memorial Museum, and I cried. I saw the Captain America exhibit.”

 

“And you cried?” Peggy asked.

 

“Something like that,” Stephanie said.

 

“You’re always so dramatic,” Peggy shook her head.

 

“I’ve been told,” Stephanie smiled.

 

“Where didn’t you cry?” Peggy asked.

 

“National Gallery,” Stephanie said. “I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the pages she had.

 

“Oh, Stephanie, it’s beautiful,” Peggy said. “Hang it for me? I want to remember you came recently.”

 

“Of course, Pegs,” Stephanie said. She took the tape from Peggy’s nightstand and added the sketch to the wall of art beside her bed. Peggy started coughing, doubled over and heaving. Her body was wracking. Hurriedly, Stephanie handed her a glass of water. Peggy took a drink and then blinked around. “Peggy?”

 

“Oh, Stephanie,” Peggy said as if startled to see her. “I -" she glanced around the room, at all the pictures and sketches Stephanie had given her over the past few months, "How long have I known you’re back?”

 

“A bit less than two years, Peggy.”

 

Peggy shook her head, “It feels like it’s been so long. Every time you leave, now, I forget you’re back all over again.”

 

“It’s just a rough day, is all,” Stephanie said.

 

“The rough days are coming more and more,” Peggy said. “All the times I’ve nearly died, gotten shot, thrown off of buildings. And my brain rots itself to death.” She shook her head. “So, what did you do today?”

 

“I went to the National Gallery. Drew you some pictures.” She reached into her bag and handed one to Peggy. “I saw the Captain America exhibit.”

 

“Did you cry?” Peggy asked.

 

“Like a baby.” Stephanie smiled somberly and continued regaling her day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading!
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback in its many forms! Including comments/kudos/subscriptions/bookmarks, etcetera. \
> 
> Until the next one!


	3. Assassination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind responses to the last chapter! I hope you're just as eager for this one as the previous! I have some fun and not-so-fun information at the endnotes, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it!

“Mind if I drop in for a meeting?” Stephanie asked Sam at the VA.

 

“Hey,” Sam said. “You alright? Rough day?”

 

“Yeah, well, I saw the Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Captain America Exhibit,” Stephanie said. “And, uh, it was just a little rough.”

 

“I got one starting in five minutes,” Sam said.

 

Stephanie sat in the back, listening to people talk about their experiences for about an hour. “The thing is,” One woman was saying. “It’s getting worse.  A cop pulled me over last week. He thought I was drunk. I swerved to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

 

“Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it going to be in a big suitcase or a little man-purse? It's up to you,” Sam assured her.

 

“It’s just that sometimes my memories are so  _ vivid _ ,” she said. “It’s like I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t.”

 

“You have to find a way to, like, pinch yourself,” Stephanie said from the back. The woman turned around to look at her, trying to pretend she didn’t look familiar. “It’s hard. I lost my husband in a war zone. And sometimes, I think he’s still around. I hear him, I feel him, I used to see him. When I knew he was gone. And I have to say ‘you’re dead’ and that brings reality back. It hurts like hell, but at least it’s real.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “And losing people is one of the hardest things. I lost my wingman, Riley. I was flying a night mission. Standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before, till RPG knock Riley's dumb ass out of the sky. Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch.” She looked at Stephanie meaningfully. Their stories echoed painfully, and it had only strengthened their friendship. “But you gotta keep living,” She told the group. “That’s what they would’ve wanted.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie drove with Sam back to Sam’s townhouse.

 

“So, really, how was it?” Sam asked.

 

“I cried in public,” Stephanie said. “I don’t think anybody noticed. I have an alert on myself, and nobody’s reported on me in D.C. yet. So, that’s good, I guess.”

 

“To be fair, I don’t think anybody expects you to see that exhibit and not cry,” Sam said. “You been to Arlington yet?”

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “I can’t go to my husband’s headstone. Besides, he’s not even there. He’s a corpse in the Alps somewhere.”

 

“That’s dark, Steph,” Sam said.

 

“It’s reality, sugar,” Stephanie shrugged.

 

“Well, I am gonna stick some lasagna in you, and we can watch this show I’ve been DVR-ing, Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Maybe that’ll cheer you up.”

 

“Hey, Brooklyn, I’m sold,” Stephanie said with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Sam was right, eating half a lasagna and watching the cop comedy with Sam did cheer her up. Once they finished the most recent episode,  _ Pontiac Bandit _ , Stephanie decided it was time to head back to the Ritz-Carlton and take a nightcap at the reasonable hour of ten in the evening. Sam dropped her off at the Ritz. Stephanie decided to take a long, hot bath, submerging herself in the warm water. Her StarkPhone was hooked up to the surround sound system in the living room. The entire suite was blaring familiar, soothing music. She changed into a camisole and a pair of comfortable lounge pants. Her plans for the night included listening to music and reading before falling asleep in her too-large bed. 

 

Life, it seemed, had other plans. 

 

As she finished unwrapping her hair from the towel and pulled the complimentary bathrobe over her pajamas to keep them from getting wet so she could let her hair dry in the air, she heard the slow creak of hinges. Someone just entered her suite. Stephanie carefully walked out of the bathroom, her back against the wall. She looked through the open doorway of the double french doors connecting the bedroom and the living space. Standing in front of the bookshelf was a man clad in a dark leather duster. Nick Fury. Upon a quick scan of Fury, she knew something was wrong. He was leaning to the side and grabbing his ribcage.

 

“I don’t remember inviting you,” She said, stepping into view.

 

“I’m sorry, Captain Barnes,” Fury said. “There’s nobody else I could trust.”

 

“Is someone trying to kill you?” 

 

“You’re quick.”

 

“Then why the hell are you standing in front of a  _ window _ ?” Stephanie asked, striding quickly and dragging him into the dining room. “How can the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. be so incompetent?  Are you trying to get shot?” The dining room had no windows, and none of the walls led to the outside. She pulled out a chair, and he sat down with a sharp hiss. Stephanie closed and locked  the door, looking at his injuries better illuminated in the light. He had a nasty gash on one arm. She pulled the thin sash out of her bathrobe and used it to wrap his injury.

 

“You’d be the last person they’d expect I go to because you hate S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury said. “So I know you’re safe.”

 

“Last time you showed up unannounced, I ended up stopping an alien invasion,” Stephanie said. She crossed her arms, “How bad is it this time?” 

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised.”

 

“How compromised?” 

 

“Very compromised.”

 

“Who else knows?” 

 

“You and me. Romanoff suspects.”

 

“Why do I know?” Stephanie asked. “I’m out, Fury. You know this. You know I’m retired. You know I don’t want to be involved in this bullshit-”

 

“I know,” Fury nodded. “Which is why you’re the only person I knew I could rely on to do what needs to be done.”

 

“One to ten,” Stephanie said. “Ten being New York?”

 

“Eight-point-five,” Fury replied. Stephanie sighed. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

 

“Maybe,” Stephanie said. “What do you need me to do?”

 

Fury reached into his coat pocket and handed Stephanie a USB drive with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on it. “This.” She accepted the drive and slipped it in the pocket of her lounge pants. Then, she froze. She heard a sharp noise outside in the living room. Someone broke the window. She flipped the large table with one hand and dragged Fury behind it. Over the speakers, Harry James and His Orchestra with vocalist Kitty Kallen began to play. Stephanie shrugged out of her bathrobe and watched the door. Stephanie heard the first pop, and she ducked. Soon, a spray of bullets came from outside the dining room, ricocheting off the walls and embedding in the table. All the while, the big band backtrack, and jazzy trumpet provided an ironically soothing instrumental to the stressful ordeal. The marble walls cracked and sprayed dust in the air, bits of fluff exploded into the air when a bullet hit a leather chair and zinged through the upholstery. Stephanie and Fury were low enough, and the slab of wood was dense enough that they were safe, but she still had her heart hammering in her chest. Stephanie listened until she heard the familiar click of an empty cartridge through the door. That’s when she sprung into action.

 

She vaulted over the table and broke through the splintered door with a hundred holes in it. The door shattered into several chunks as she slammed into it and then those chunks and she slammed into the shooter. The force of her sent both of them slamming into the opposite wall. The drywall cracked under their combined force.

 

_ “Never thought that you would be, standing here so close to me,” _ Kitty Kallen sang.

 

He had already reloaded the assault rifle. It was in his right hand. Stephanie held his right arm away from her body while pushing herself into his close range. He shot into the dining room. She grabbed the gun with one hand and twisted into it, her knee snapped the muzzle away from the rest of the rifle, which scraped her flesh open through the almost-nothing layer of her cotton pants. It was worth it, however. He dropped the broken gun. Angry, the man swung at her with his left arm, rotating his entire torso. She ducked quickly, slipped to his side, pivoted, and kicked him in the back, turning her hips over and slamming her shin into his left kidney. He grunted.

 

_ “There's so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day.” _

 

He pulled out a pistol and trained it on her. She slammed her left forearm into the inside of his right wrist. Then she slipped her arm around his wrist, put her right hand behind his head, and spun with all her might. She pulled him by his right arm and pushed him by the head, so he slammed headfirst into the wall behind her. His arm was wrenched back, and his head dented the wall, his grip on the gun loosened and she caught it, training it on him and letting off a shot. His left arm made a wide arc as he spun around to face her and the bullet ricocheted. She realized that his arm was metal, with a red star on the shoulder. And a second later, she realized it was bulletproof. Not eager to keep the gun in play in case he could get it back from her, she threw it, and it flew across the living room and out the broken window. He looked surprised for half a second that she would throw away a perfectly fine and loaded weapon. She used that time to look at him: He had a mask on, and there was black paint smeared around his piercing, steel-blue eyes. His hair was long, dark, and shaggy.

 

_ “Kiss me once, then kiss me twice. Then kiss me once again.” _

 

He grabbed something off a holster on his hip and brought a tactical knife down in an arc with his right hand. Stephanie crossed her wrists and caught his arm before the blade could surge down onto her. She slipped her left hand over her right and grabbed his wrist with both, pulling him down by his arm while bringing her bleeding knee to his face. He blocked her knee by pushing it away, hard, with his metal arm. And it hurt like a bitch as his metal palm slammed right above her kneecap. She squared herself beside him, still pulling his right arm away from him, trying to stay as far away from the metal one as possible. He swept her left leg with his right one, and she tumbled forward. She hung onto the hand with the knife for dear life, and as she flipped forward, she caught the back of her left knee on the nape of his neck and pulled him down with her.

 

_ “It's been a long, long time. Haven't felt like this, my dear.” _

 

They both landed on their backs. The hallway was so narrow that their legs were stuck in the air, heels digging into the wall. The assassin struck at her across his body with his left hand, but Stephanie pushed his right arm, which she still had a vice grip on, in the way. They collided, and he pulled back. The assassin went in again with a strike, but she blocked him again with his arm. Realizing that this wasn’t going to be an effective method of fighting, he launched his hips in the air, rolled on his shoulder, and landed on her. He was straddling her waist and pinning her thighs to the wall in the process. He was warm and heavy on top of her, but she was too busy trying not to die to think about how that felt. Although, distantly, in the back of her mind, it felt like something.

 

_ “Since I can't remember when, it's been a long, long time.” _

 

He brought his metal fist down in a hard strike to her face. She pushed his hand in the way, blade up. Rock beat scissors, and his closed fist bent the knife down to the hilt and knocked it into the side of her face. He let go of the grip and growled. She felt the pressure of his right elbow and knew that he was balancing on her, so she pushed his right arm toward him and sent him off balance, lurching forward. His right shoulder landed in her stomach, her chest pillowed his head, and he set his left hand on the ground beside her head to steady himself. She could smell his sweat, and his hair tickled her throat. There was something intimate and violent about this fight, and Stephanie was trying to focus on the violence.

 

“ _ You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you _ .”

 

Her right hand grabbed his metal wrist, her left hand looped around his and grabbed her own wrist, and with her square lever, she pulled his metal arm back. The mechanics inside whirred and groaned. The plates shifted as she bent it at an angle that would have dislocated a normal human shoulder. She used this lever on him to push him away from her, wriggling her body out from under his. Once she had a leg free, she mounted his back, continuing to twist his metal arm behind him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he held on.

 

_ “Or just how empty they all seemed without you.” _

 

The assassin slammed her backward into the wall, leaned his full pressure into her, and stood up. She slid up the wall as he climbed to his feet. He tried to pull her legs off his waist, but she just dug her heels in tighter. He swung at her and turned, but she continued to hold on. He stumbled into the living room, still trying to shake her off.

 

“ _ Ah, kiss me once. _ ”

 

He launched himself backward, slamming her into a wall with all his might. She groaned with the pain as his metal arm dug into her abdomen, as the pressure of his weight and the wall  nearly knocked the air from her. But she dug in; she held on, she took deep breaths.

 

“ _ Then kiss me twice _ .”

 

Once again, he walked forward and launched himself back into the same spot of the wall. Again she groaned. She bit back the pain of her back in the wall, his arm in her gut, the force of a heavy man slamming into her lungs.

 

“ _ Then kiss me once again _ .”

 

He went for the same move, and this time, Stephanie had a countermove. As he slammed backward and his arm was pinned between her and him, she let go, and she wrapped her right arm around his neck. She gripped her left bicep and tucked her left arm around his head, grabbing her right shoulder. She had wrapped herself around his incredibly solid body and hung from his back. She pulled on his neck with her arms and pushed on his hips with her legs, and he gagged as she choked him.

 

_ “It’s been a long, long time _ .”

 

The issue was that his left arm was free now, and it was a lot stronger than his right. He managed to hit her shins until she loosened her grip, wrenched her legs away from around his waist, and then pull at the lock she had around his neck. As his hands went to her arms, she swung her hips forward and latched onto his waist again, still trying to hold on just a bit longer so she could choke him out. He was surviving being choked for a ridiculously, superhumanly extended amount of time.

 

_ “Ah, kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again.” _

 

He broke her grip on his waist a second time and went back to loosening her grip on his neck. She grabbed his hips, he pulled her off, and he broke her grip on his throat. She fell onto her back on the floor, slamming hard against the carpet. He heaved with deep breaths and bent down, picking her up by the throat with his metal hand and holding her in the air. Now it was her turn to get strangled, and it was not fun. She looked in his eyes as he did it. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes were dark, and his pupils were wide. She swung her hips upward, crossing her ankles on the top of his shoulder and pushing as hard as she could to get her neck to slip out of his grasp. She finally pushed off, falling to the ground. Stars danced across her vision, and she dragged herself toward the open French doors of the bedroom for no reason other than trying to get away. She felt his hands on her waist. The metal one was cold against the sliver of skin where her camisole had ridden up through the course of the fight. She felt gooseflesh spread across her body with a sharp, rippling tingle. He picked her up and swung her through the air, she soared through the wide doorway and landed with a bounce on the large bed.

 

_ “It's been a long time. Haven't felt like this my dear since I can't remember when. It's been a long, long time.” _

 

Stephanie rolled onto her back, legs splayed across the bed, and she looked at the assassin to see his next move. The strange thing was that he didn’t make a move. He stared at her, and she at him. The mutual gawking was an awkward beat to a brutal fight. She thought, in a moment of panic, maybe something embarrassing happened which was why he was ogling her. What if her camisole slipped and was exposing something? She supposed that it would be a great tactic at distracting him. But when she glanced down at herself, everything was in order. She was heaving with every gasping breath, and the camisole was stretched taut across her chest, and there was a sliver of skin visible where it had ridden up around her waist, but nothing was inappropriately exposed. Unless he was freaking out about her midsection, she looked up at him again. He was still staring at her, frozen still. Was this some move? To become a statue so she would have to come to him? Well, two could play at that game. Maybe this staring contest would give her enough time for law enforcement to arrive. She looked him up and down as she stayed perfectly still. His metal arm looked like it went all the way up, past his shoulder. He had broad shoulders, a broad chest, and a thick torso, which sloped to his hips. His thighs were massive and muscular, stretching the fabric of what should have been baggy pants. He was wearing all black, leather tactical on the top and cargo pants on the bottom, with heavy boots. It looked like he had more gear on his body, which raised the question of why he wasn’t using it. His mask went to beneath his eyes, and his eyes were surrounded in the dark paint, his hair fell in his face. There were no identifying marks beyond the metal arm. No tattoos, although only the skin of his forehead was visible. 

 

_ “You'll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you. Or just how empty they all seemed without you.” _

 

Suddenly, he moved again. But, instead of charging at Stephanie, he ran to the side and out the window. Stephanie leaped off the bed and dashed to look where he went, but by the time she reached the smashed window, he was gone. She carefully stepped away from the broken glass and went back to where Fury was. Fury was lying in a puddle of blood in the dining room, having taken a bullet to the upper chest. Stephanie remembered that the assassin had gotten a few shots off after she slammed into him. She cursed herself for not realizing sooner. She grabbed the bathrobe and tried to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. Fury groaned with the pressure. He whispered an ample warning to her before his body went slack beneath her. The door to her room burst open, police surging in.

 

“ _ So kiss me once then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time _ .”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew.
> 
> Let's start with the less fun announcement. I've decided to temporarily disable anonymous commenting due to issues with harassment on the site, at the advice of the Archive until they can implement better ways of blocking harassers. If you don't have an account, you can still show your support through kudos, and I'm sorry how someone's poor behavior led me to make these choices, but I don't have the energy to deal with my job, my education, and the emotional labor of an anonymous bully. Of course, you're always welcome to contact me anonymously on my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu. Also, if you want an AO3 account and contact me on my Tumblr, I think I have some invites to give!
> 
> On a happier note, I have to say that I love this chapter for what I think is a cool reason. The fight scene that took up the majority of it was one that I got to personally choreograph! I've been doing mixed martial arts for nearly a decade now, and I coordinated this fight scene myself, actually performing near 80% of what Stephanie did! It was an entertaining afternoon, and martial arts is a massive hobby of mine, so I loved that I was able to perform what I wrote. We unfortunately did not do it to music from Harry James' Orchestra, that was a later edition to the scene, but I enjoyed the fighting nonetheless!
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading and your continued support. Your feedback in any form is appreciated!


	4. Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kind responses to the last chapter! I have to be honest, work and school have swamped me lately, but I'm doing my best to update and reply to your comments consistently. Thank you, though, for your patience.

Stephanie rode with Fury on the ambulance to the nearby hospital, watching as the EMTs struggled to keep him alive as he was critical and unstable. He was immediately wheeled up to a trauma room and scheduled for surgery. Stephanie was dragged away to a bed to be looked over. She had cuts in her feet from broken glass, a gash above her knee, and bruises that ran up and down her shins, across her back, and around her neck. The bruises would be mostly gone in a few hours thanks to the serum, but at the moment she looked like she had been through a fight. The assassin had undoubtedly marked her in their brawl, and she could still all but feel his hands on her as she moved.

 

Nat arrived fifteen minutes after Stephanie was taken to the hospital with a change of clothes for Stephanie.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Stephanie asked.

 

“I was coming back from dropping Claire off in New York when I got a call from Hill,” Nat said. “Get changed, we’re allowed in the surgery gallery, and I need to check on Nick.”

 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Stephanie said. She went to one of the public restrooms, popped the lock off the feminine hygiene dispenser, and stole a pad. When she went into the bathroom and changed, she sat down on the toilet with her pants around her knees, and she pulled the USB out of her loungewear pocket at looked at it. This little drive was worth a lot. She dug her nail into the USB’s port and carefully pried the chip with the data out of the drive. She opened the pad, stuck the chip on the sticky side, and pressed it down in the gusset of her panties. She wrapped the USB stick in the pad wrapper and put it in the trash receptacle, wiped, and flushed. She washed her hands and headed out to find Nat.

 

Nat and Stephanie were led to the viewing gallery for the operation room he was receiving surgery.

 

“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” Nat asked as they watched the doctors and nurses work around him.

 

“I don’t know,” Stephanie admitted.

 

“Tell me about the shooter,” Nat ordered.

 

“He’s fast,” Stephanie said. “He’s strong. Incredibly well trained. He’s enhanced. Nearly killed me about a dozen times. And he has a metal arm.”

 

Agent Hill entered the viewing gallery.

 

“Ballistics?” Nat asked.

 

“We got about two hundred slugs, from when he shot up that room,” Hill said. “No rifling. Completely untraceable.”

 

“Soviet-made,” Nat guessed.

 

“Yeah,” Hill nodded.

 

Suddenly, the alarms on the sensors in Fury’s room started to go off. The doctors and nurses began to rush around in a frenzy.

 

“He’s in V-tach!” A male nurse exclaimed.

 

“Crash cart coming in!” A female nurse explained.

 

“Nurse, help me with the drape,” the doctor said.

 

“BP is dropping!” the male nurse warned. Suddenly, Fury flatlined.

 

“Defibrillator!” The doctor exclaimed. “I want you to charge to 100.”

 

“Don’t do this to me, Nick,” Nat whispered beside Stephanie.

 

“Stand back!” The doctor exclaimed. “Three, two, one, clear!” They shocked him with the defibrillator. He seized, but his stats didn’t improve. “Pulse?”

 

“No pulse,” the nurse and resident confirmed.

 

“Okay, 200. Please, stand back! Three, two, one, clear!” The pressed again. He jolted but didn’t improve. “Give me epinephrine! Pulse?”

 

“Negative.”

 

They watched as the doctors continued trying to revive Fury. “Don’t do this to me, Nick,” Nat begged as his condition never improved. “Don’t do this to me.” They watched as they gave him  two more jolts, each time being unsuccessful. The doctor sighed and set down the defibrillator. Stephanie looked down.

 

“What’s the time?” the doctor asked.

 

“1:03, doctor,” The female nurse replied.

 

“Time of death, 1:03 AM,” the doctor said.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie and Nat were allowed into the room where his body was laid out. Stephanie and Hill gave Nat space. It was clear how Nat was struggling. Stephanie had never seen Nat cry before.

 

“I need to take him,” Hill finally said.

 

Nat tenderly touched Fury’s head before storming out of the room, and Stephanie felt obligated to charge after them and try to be a comfort. After all, she was the one who wasn’t able to save Fury. 

 

“Nat!” She called. “Nat-”

 

Nat spun around, “Why was Fury in your suite?”

 

“He wanted my help,” Stephanie said. “Someone was trying to kill him, and I guess he thought I could stop them.”

 

“Why you?” Nat asked. “Why not one of the thousand S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who work for him-”

 

A man came up, with a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on his jacket, “I’m sorry, Captain Barnes, I need you to come with me.”

 

“Go away, Brock,” Nat snapped.

 

“Secretary Pierce’s orders,” Brock said.

 

“Can I have a second?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Sorry, Cap, but a lot of people have a lot of questions,” Brock replied. “The World Security Council, most notably. The sooner we can clear this up, the better for everybody.”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“STRIKE commander Brock Rumlow, your security detail,” He said, offering his hand. She shook it. “I know who you are, of course.”

 

“Good,” Stephanie replied. She turned to Nat, “We’ll talk later, I promise.”

 

Nat sighed and continued storming off through the hospital. 

 

“Let’s go,” Stephanie said to Rumlow.

 

* * *

 

 

Rumlow escorted Stephanie to the Triskelion. She went through the metal detector with ease, with the chip not having enough metal to set off the alarm, and passed her pat-down. Rumlow took her to the top offices of the Triskelion, to the office of Secretary Alexander Pierce. Rumlow stopped in the entryway, and a man walked out.

 

“Ah, Captain Barnes,” The man greeted her. He was wearing a three-piece suit. “I’m Alexander Pierce.” He offered her his hand.

 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Stephanie said as they shook in the hall.

 

“Please, come on in,” he said, guiding her into his office with a hand at her lower back. She let him touch her, but she made sure she was guarded. He sat down at his desk, and she sat down  across from him, neatly crossing her ankles and sitting up straight, as Captain America should. “I just have to say; it’s an honor, ma’am. My father served in the 101st.” She smiled politely. He picked up a picture off his desk and handed it to her. It was of him and Fury. So, they were friends. “That photo was taken five years after I met Nick,” Pierce said, sounding sentimental. “When I was at State Department in Bogota. ELN rebels took the embassy, and security got me out, but the rebels took hostages. Nick was deputy chief for the S.H.I.E.L.D. station there: He comes to me with a plan to storm the building through the sewers. I said, ‘No, we'll negotiate.’ It turned out the ELN didn't negotiate, so they put out a kill order. They stormed the basement, and what did they find? They find it empty. Nick had ignored my direct order and carried out an unauthorized military operation on foreign soil. He saved the lives of a dozen political officers, including my daughter.”

 

“So you gave him a promotion,” Stephanie guessed.

 

“And I’ve never had any cause to regret it,” Pierce said. “Captain, why was Nick in your suite last night?”

 

“Because someone was trying to kill him.”

 

“That’s all he told you?”

 

“He was incredibly cryptic and vague, but that’s what I got out of the conversation.”

 

“Do you know why he went to you, specifically?”

 

“I guess because I was Captain America,” Stephanie shrugged. “He thought I could save him. And, he was wrong, I guess.”

 

“And the assassin, what can you tell me about him?” Pierce asked.

 

“Not much. He’s probably enhanced. Hell of a good fighter. Metal arm.”

 

“Why didn’t he kill you, then?”

 

“I’m a hell of a good fighter, too, I guess,” Stephanie replied. “He must’ve known the police were coming because he bolted moments before they showed up. Maybe he heard them. Maybe he had friends with eyes on the Ritz.”

 

Pierce nodded slowly, processing and accepting this information with a satisfied expression. “I have to admit something a bit embarrassing. We just found out that Nick Fury had taken a  flash drive with S.H.I.E.L.D. intel out of the Triskelion.”

 

“Is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. not allowed to have his own intel?” Stephanie asked.

 

“It’s a bit more complicated,” He sighed. “You see, two days ago, a S.H.I.E.L.D. satellite Launch ship, the Lemurian Star, was taken by pirates and that intel was almost apprehended. Agents Romanoff and Barton returned it to us. Upon tracing the head pirate, Batroc, we found he was hired anonymously to attack the Lemurian Star, and he was contacted by e-mail and paid by wire transfer. And then the money was run through seventeen fictitious accounts, the last one going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech.”

 

“Am I supposed to recognize that name?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Probably not,” Pierce said. “Veech died six years ago. His last address was 1435 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived in 1437.”

 

“So, you think Fury hired some pirates to steal his intel,” Stephanie said. “Why?”

 

“The prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour, and that led to Nick's death,” Pierce said.

 

“I can’t say I ever liked Fury,” Stephanie said. “But that doesn’t sound like him.”

 

“Yeah, well, why do you think we’re talking?” Pierce asked. “See, I took a seat on the Council not because I wanted to but because Nick asked me to because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today makes me really, really angry.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stephanie said. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

 

“Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive. I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either. So I'm gonna ask again, why was he there?”

 

Stephanie sighed. She didn’t like Pierce. She had about twelve reasons why she didn’t like Pierce. But if she kept resisting, he was going to get suspicious. And she knew she wasn’t a good liar, decent actress, but lousy liar. “Fury and I have an agreement surrounding my retirement. He gives me space unless it’s bad. Extremely bad. Last time, it was New York. So, all I know is that if he did go to see me, he was spooked, and he didn’t trust anybody. Look, I am sorry, Secretary Pierce. I don’t like what’s going on any more than you do, but I don’t know as much as you want me to. All I want to do is go home, hug my kid, and get some rest. I’m sure, as a parent yourself, you can appreciate the sentiment. Am I free to go?”

 

Pierce looked at her for a moment before finally nodding, “I’ll have Rumlow drive you to the airport.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Stephanie said.

 

He escorted her out of his office, “Rumlow, take the Captain to the airport; she’s going back to New York.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Rumlow nodded.

 

She smiled at Pierce, “I’m sorry we couldn’t’ve met under better circumstances.”

 

“So am I, Captain,” Pierce replied.

 

Stephanie followed Rumlow into the glass elevator. “Garage,” he told the elevator.

 

“Confirmed,” The elevator computer chirped. They went down a few levels before two other agents stepped into the elevator.

 

“Forensics,” one of them said.

 

“Confirmed,” The computer beeped. The shuffled into the elevator, earning Stephanie's suspicious glance. One of them was holding onto the baton in his holster. That was odd. They went down a few more levels, to forensics, before two more agents stepped in. The other two didn’t step out.

 

“Administrations level,” One of the agents, said.

 

“Confirmed,” The computer said. They went down to administrations. Two more agents stepped in, and none got off.

 

“Records,” One of the agents said. Stephanie was starting to get more bad feelings. They were getting on, and not getting off. Fury had said S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised, and here she was in the lion’s den.

 

“Hey,” Brock Rumlow said to her. She turned to face him. “I'm sorry about what happened with Fury. Messed up, what happened to him. Sorry, you had to see that.”

 

“Thank you,” Stephanie said. They reached records. The doors open. As to be expected, two more agents stepped in. Nobody got out. Stephanie moved toward the doors to make space for  the other two. Nobody said where they wanted to go. The elevator continued going down. She glanced to the side. The man behind her was sweating buckets, clearly nervous. She knew, at that moment, what was going to happen, like a disappointing inevitability. She cleared her throat, “So, it’s gonna be nine against one?” She asked. “That’s not very fair, now, is it? Tell you fellas what, I’ll give you a chance to call in some reinforcements.”

 

She heard the man standing directly in front of her inhale sharply, and so she dropped to the ground, swinging her leg in a wide arc behind her and tucking her chin into her chest. The man above spun around with an electric baton raised and tripped over her back. Her leg, as it swung, knocked into three sets of legs and two more bodies fell. While someone was smart enough to hit the stop on the elevator, It was the pandemonium she needed to give her an upper hand - literally. She grabbed the nearest hand and pulled, launching herself into the air off of it and kicking the man who owned that hand in the head. She steadied on her feet just in time for one of the broader agents to grab her from behind in a weak headlock, pulling her to the wall more than anything. One man took the handle off his briefcase and snapped it on her wrist, pushing it toward the metal bar of the elevator. Another man tried to help slam her arm against the wall. She forced her elbow down and kicked the nearest one in the knee. The other one surged forward, past the range of her arms. She did the only thing she could do, Stephanie lunged her face toward his, sunk her teeth into the flesh she could, and pulled. She had latched onto his ear, which gave way and he screamed in pain, collapsing to the ground. Stephanie spat the ear in the face of the one surging toward her, and he reeled backward in disgust. She slammed her elbow into the face of one of the men trying to get control of her other arm and his nose cracked. He fell backward, and his restraint hit the wall and stayed there. Another one came closer, she extended her leg, pushed with her hips, and kicked him in the chest. He slammed backward into the glass wall, and it cracked beneath his weight. Another one came toward her, and she drove the knife of her hand into his throat, he gagged as his windpipe collapsed. She swung the same arm back and the elbow collided with the head of a man charging at her with a baton. She wrenched her head backward, connecting with the nose of the man who had his arm around her neck, she grabbed his arm, and she twisted forward. He landed on two of his buddies, and they all went tumbling down.

 

Rumlow kicked Stephanie’s wrist, the one with the magnet on it, and her arm flew backward, connecting with one of the metal beams that ran across the glass walls right above her head. She tried to pull it away, but Rumlow came at her with a baton. She caught the inside of his forearm with the outside of hers and pushed him away, but he came reeling back, digging the rod into her back and electrocuting her. She seized and cried out from the rippling pain. She curled against the glass and saw a fist coming at her in the reflection. She forced herself to lean back into the electric baton. The fist collided with the glass near her head, and she struck the man in the face. She then swung the elbow of her free hand backward and socked Rumlow in the head. It was then that she noticed there was a camera in the corner of the elevator. They were watching her. That wasn’t good. She pushed off against the wall with her legs, arcing through the air. She grabbed onto the grating on the ceiling of the glass elevator and shoved her heel into the camera three times. It fizzed and sparked, broken glass raining down. She dropped her legs down, and they landed on the shoulders of a man coming with a baton. She clenched her knees and spun, he flipped through the air and collided another man. The electric rod was trapped between them, and they were both wrigging together on the floor.

 

Another one scrambled to his feet, she kicked off the wall and kicked him square in the nose. Blood sprayed as he stumbled to the ground. Another one pushed toward her, baton raised and a warcry on his lips. She caught his wrist with the outside of her forearm, pushed off his knee, kicked him in the head, and continued her momentum until she was upside down on the wall, pushing against it with all her might to disconnect the magnet. The magnet gave way, and she launched across the small space horizontally, flipping through the air and landing square in the small patch of the elevator floor that wasn’t a pile of bodies. Rumlow was behind her right shoulder. She elbowed him in the face. The man behind her left shoulder swung. She ducked and put an uppercut in his jaw that made it crack, and his head hit the ceiling. 

 

Rumlow scrambled to his feet, an electric prod in each hand. “Whoa, sweetheart,” He said, with the audacity to look defensive. “I just want you to know, Cap, this isn’t personal-” He lunged at her with the batons. She stepped out of the way and slammed her knee into his abdomen as she slipped past him. He spun around, and she caught the stick coming above her head. She didn’t get the one coming underhand until after it sent ripples of pain through her abdomen. She pushed both of his hands away. He was straining against her, trying to fight, but not nearly as strong. In a swift motion, Stephanie dropped back to the ground, rolling with him, and launched her hips into the air. He skyrocketed into the grating and popped open the emergency elevator exit in the ceiling. As he came down, she swung her heels into his side, and he hit the elevator doors, bending them. 

 

“Kinda feels personal,” Stephanie said. She climbed to her feet, surrounded by bodies, all of which were unconscious and at various stages of bleeding. Stephanie looked at the electromagnet latched on her wrist and noticed a dial. She turned it down and pressed it the magnet against the elevator doors. She pulled it away effortlessly. Good to know. She bent down over Rumlow and picked the comm unit out of his ear and slipped it into hers.

 

“Rumlow? STRIKE? We do not have a visual.” Someone was asking. “We’re mobilizing STRIKE to the 25th floor! Do you copy?” Stephanie looked up at the elevator. She was on the 25th floor. She picked up one of the electric batons and took the other electromagnet off the wall, turning down the dial first, so it came off easily. She jumped through the emergency exit in the ceiling and slid it closed. She looked up and saw the elevator brake in easy reach. She turned up the electromagnet on her wrist and connected it to the inside of the elevator shaft, held the other electromagnet in her latched hand, and leaned toward the brake. She pressed the baton toward the feed wire and sent a bolt of electricity. The brake released and the elevator went into free fall for fifteen stories before the emergency brake kicked in. “Rumlow! Report!” The comm unit in her ear barked. “STRIKE, change target, the tenth floor!” Satisfied, Stephanie grabbed the handle of the baton between her teeth, put the loose electromagnet in the hand that wasn’t latched to one, and started to climb. It took a lot of awkward fumbling and slipping, but she eventually found the sweet spot where the handles were enough to support her as she free-climbed up the elevator shaft but weak enough that she could pull them away from the wall. She went up about ten stories before STRIKE finally breached the elevator. The commanding officer gave her a helpful commentary the entire time before they realized that Rumlow’s comm unit was compromised and promptly switched channels.

 

It was on the thirty-fifth floor that Stephanie forced the doors open, left the electromagnet that wasn’t latched on her wrist in the elevator shaft, and walked out onto some office floor. She ducked out of view as quickly as she can, heading into the women’s bathroom and knocking into-

 

“Sharon?” Stephanie asked. Immensely relieved to see a friendly face.

 

“Steph-?” Sharon began, but Stephanie clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the bathroom. “-What’s going on?”

 

“Fury’s dead. S.H.I.E.L.D. might’ve done it. Now they’re after me,” Stephanie said.

 

“Are you serious?” Sharon asked.

 

“Yes,” Stephanie said, showing her the magnet clamped to her wrist. “I need to get out of here.”

 

“Okay,” Sharon said. “With me,” Sharon stepped out of the bathroom and slipped into the nearby custodial closet. Stephanie followed. “I do risk analysis and security for S.H.I.E.L.D., and I  know they’re not listening to me because the only security we have in the trash chutes are motion detectors and they don’t even check those logs. These’ll lead you to the basement, it’ll be a stinky landing, but only medical waste gets incinerated, and the dumpsters are emptied on Tuesdays so you should have a cushion layer. Once you’re in the basement, you’re right next door to the garage.” Sharon handed her her ID Card, “That should let you get a vehicle, but dump it soon.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Stephanie said. “Thank you, Sharon. I owe you a drink.”

 

“You owe me five, now  _ go _ ,” Sharon urged. Stephanie opened the trash chute and slipped inside, clutching her wrist to her chest so that she didn’t get stuck on the way down. It wasn’t a fun landing, but it wasn’t painful as she sunk onto the pile of black trash bags in a large metal tub. Stephanie fought her way through the stench and rolled out. She used Sharon’s ID to get out of the trash room and into the garage. Stephanie checked out a motorcycle with Sharon’s ID and stuck it in a trash can, then Stephanie grabbed a black helmet off a rack of many, saddled up and shot toward the bridge doors. They started to close as she did so, someone finally thinking about putting the Triskelion on lockdown. On the other side of the bridge, large spikes protruded out of the ground, keeping her from getting out that way. A Quinjet spun into the road, blocking her path.

 

“Stand down, Captain Barnes! Stand down!” The speakers ordered. The Gatling machine gun descended from the bottom of the Quinjet and started whirring. She zigged and zagged down  the road to avoid the line of fire. As she got closer to the Quinjet, she grabbed the electric baton out of where it was sticking in her back pocket and flung it at the gun. It plugged one of the receivers of the Gatling, and as it spun, it got stuck and exploded. The Quinjet tipped forward with the force of the blast, its nose grinding along the pavement. Stephanie ramped up the nose of the Quinjet and off the back, soaring through the air and over the spikes, landing hard on the other side of the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. The motorcycle bounced, and she pushed it, shooting into Arlington, Virginia, trying to hit the densest part of the city as quickly as she could so the Quinjet wouldn’t be able to double back and find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! One of my favorite things about writing Stephanie is how often she gets into brawls, because writing fighting is enjoyable, in my opinion. The elevator scene is a classic, and I didn't want to change it too much, but I knew I had to make some adjustments for the equipment that Stephanie didn't have at the time. I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> As always, your feedback is welcome and appreciated! Thank you all so much for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one!


	5. Manhunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, an obligatory thank you to everyone for reading and your kind responses to the last chapter.
> 
> Just so none of you ask after diving into this, I wrote my draft for this chapter a while ago, so if there's anything that reminds you of the most recent Avengers movie (and it really could only be like _one_ scene), it wasn't intentional. I'm keeping my comment section spoiler-free for the time being, so if you want to refer to it, know I'll moderate those comments and not let them be seen on the public work. You could also comment twice, and I can reply to the spoiler-free one!
> 
> Without further ado, the next chapter!

 

Nat got the alert on their phone two hours after Stephanie left to the Triskelion.

 

 _S.H.I.E.L.D. wants captain Stephanie Barnes (codename: Captain America) for information surrounding the death of Director Fury and possible stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. Intel (flash drive). All Agents in D.C., please report for Level One briefing and assignment to find Cpt. Barnes_.

 

“Oh, Steph,” Nat said, looking at the alert before removing the battery from their phone. “What did you do?”

 

Nat thought back to the night. They arrived fifteen minutes after Stephanie showed up at the E.R. with clothes and shoes in her size. Stephanie went to the bathroom and changed. That was the only chance the entire night she could have made some type of transfer or drop if she did have the flash drive. Nat went back to the hospital.

 

In the ladies bathroom, Nat noticed that the lock on the feminine hygiene products receptacle was broken. It could mean nothing, but it could also mean something. They checked the inside, but there was nothing. Well, where else was a place to hide something in a bathroom? Nat dug through the trash. Then they went through the garbage of every little metal box in the stalls of the women’s restroom. And sure enough, wrapped in a pink, plastic pad wrapper, was the flash drive. The one Nat had backed up on the Lemurian Star. Nat decided to hang outside the bathroom and wait for Stephanie to come. Fifteen minutes past, Stephanie hadn’t come. That made Nat uneasy; time would be of the essence for them. What information did they miss? Something thick settled in their gut. They looked at the USB port for the flash drive. The chip was gone. Alright, Stephanie was better at this than Nat had expected. Good. Now, Nat needed a new plan.

 

What would Stephanie do? She would try to get off the grid, but not without checking in on her son. Especially because she hadn’t a chance to call him at the hospital. James Joseph Barnes, bless him, was Stephanie’s premiere weakness. He was staying with Toni and Pepper, and Stephanie would undoubtedly try to contact them and get some form of warning. The good thing about Stark’s system for Stephanie was that from any phone, you could call JARVIS’s central operating system and get linked with anybody who had a phone in a Stark-owned building or was connected to JARVIS via a personal device. The only way to operate JARVIS’s operating logs and now if Stephanie called Toni was to get into JARVIS, which wasn’t easy. Nat knew they couldn’t hack JARVIS, but they could do the next best thing and access the general logs through a Stark-owned computer system and look at the recent numbers. Then, they would have to look up every number, which wouldn’t be fun, but it would get a lead.

 

Nat looked up Stark’s acquisitions in D.C. online on their phone, and what do you know, one of the recent acquisitions was Toni’s conglomeration of east-coast hospitals to expand medical research. One of the many healthcare places Stark Industries acquired was D.C.-based BridgePort Healthcare LLC. Nat looked up their central office, Constitution Avenue.

 

It was a fifteen-minute drive in their Corvette, and it took all of five minutes to trick the receptionist at the front desk into letting them check into their system because Nat claimed they were from IT. Then, Nat just had to do some typing and searching through the company’s operating system, and they pulled up all of the recent calls to JARVIS’ mainframe. Printed the last hour of calls, and thanked the receptionist with a flirty wink.

 

In a free coffee shop with a black coffee beside them, Nat set up an algorithm to classify the numbers and list them in order of the closest to D.C. the last call was from based on cell tower data, or landline data, with a priority if the number was anonymous in some way. At the top of the list, a call from a payphone in a mall in Arlington, eight minutes before they printed out the list. Nat hoped that Stephanie was still there after the twenty-minute drive as it would take, and returned quickly to their car.

 

Did Stephanie go to the mall to quickly change out of her clothes and into some sort of disguise, or was there something else? That was a question Nat answered by looking up the directory. There was a StarkTech store in the mall. Free computers to demo. That would be an excellent way for Stephanie to look at the intel on the chip. Plus, she could get a USB drive for cheap at the mall and change out the chips for easy access.

 

Nat parked and found their way into the mall, scoping out the StarkTech store. The only people inside was a couple of random people and the long-haired staff member. Nat got a pretzel and parked on a bench in front of the tech store. They carefully documented the sea of people who passed by. A family with a screaming child. A gaggle of teen girls. Gang of teen boys. Woman with blue hair. Happy couple. Happy couple. A different family with well-behaved children. Three young women with designer purses. Businessman screaming into a phone. Emo couple. Woman with blue hair. Wait.

 

The woman with blue hair passed by the tech store twice in five minutes. That was suspicious. Nat followed her. She was about five-eight, but she was slouching, easily could’ve been Stephanie’s height. Her blue hair had a stiffness to it, but it could be a wig or a bad dye job. She had big glasses and a hood up, a shoddy but temporarily effective disguise. There wasn't much that could be determined from this angle behind the woman, except - Nat scanned down her backside. It was Stephanie. That was a memorable, patriotic ass. The woman walked into a Macy's, and Nat followed. The flash of blue went to the women’s section. Nat was passing through the racks when arms grabbed them and pushed them into a dressing room, slamming them against the mirror. The woman pulled her hood off. It was Stephanie in a wig.

 

“Why are you here?” Stephanie asked.

 

“To help you,” Nat said. “I know you didn’t kill Fury. If you kept information from S.H.I.E.L.D., it was for a good reason, or because Fury asked you to. I found you in forty-five minutes. The rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t be that far behind.

 

“What’s on the drive?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t lie,” Stephanie warned, jaw clenching and eyes flaring.

 

“I only act like I know everything, Barnes.”

 

“Did you know Fury hired the pirates?”

 

Nat did, figured it out on the way back from Bed-Stuy after dropping off Claire. They nodded, “Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty. STRIKE got bad intel, that meant something on the inside was screwed. Fury was the only one who knew the truth, meaning he hired the men.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I should let you help me,” Stephanie said.

 

“I know who killed Fury. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

 

“So he’s a ghost story,” Stephanie said.

 

Nat nodded, “Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.” Nat pulled up the hem of their shirt, revealing the angry red scar on their torso. “Soviet slug. No rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.”

 

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.”

 

Nat smiled. “You can’t go after him, I know, I’ve tried, he’s a ghost,” they said. “But, then again, I didn’t think anyone could go head to head with him and survive, and you did. It’s amazing.”

 

“What, you have a crush?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Professional fascination,” Nat shrugged, keeping a lid on reality. “What was he like?”

 

“There’s not much to say,” Stephanie said awkwardly. She was avoiding Nat’s eyes. “He was strong. He was big. He was fast. He had dark hair and grey-blue eyes. He was pale, and he had a metal arm.”

 

“The whole arm?”

 

“I did a move that’d dislocate the average shoulder, and his whole arm just clicked angrily,” Stephanie nodded. “He was skilled, ridiculously skilled. I’ve never fought somebody that could keep up with me like that. If I wasn’t trying to die, I might’ve been impressed.” She was impressed anyway if the pink that was slowly creeping up her face indicated anything to Nat. “He was made out of pure muscle. Every bit of him I touched was…” Her voice dropped out suddenly as if she realized in the last second that she was about to say something she didn't want to. She shuddered and was apparently trying to refocus. “And sure, I only saw his eyes, but that’s all you needed to know exactly what he was thinking.”

 

“But you held your own,” Nat said, picking through to get the relevant information.

 

“I fought like hell,” Stephanie admitted. “It was a lot of back and forth. He pinned me. I choked him. Neither of us could get the upper hand and hold it for long. But-”

 

“But what?”

 

“A weird thing did happen.”

 

“Weird how?”

 

“He threw me on the bed,” Stephanie said. “And he stared at me. And I thought, you know, maybe something distracted him. But I couldn’t figure out what.”

 

“How long did he stare at you?” Nat asked.

 

“About half a minute. It wasn’t a blank look, but the man was like a statue. And then he jumped out the window.” Stephanie said.

 

“Weird,” Nat agreed.

 

Stephanie sighed, “Look, we can chat more about the assassin later. I want to know more about the intel that sent the guy after me.”

 

Nat smiled. “I can help. The drive has a Level Six homing program, so as soon as we boot up, S.H.I.E.L.D. will know exactly where we are.”

 

“How long will we have?”

 

“Nine minutes.”

 

“Alright,” Stephanie nodded, she started heading out of the dressing room. Nat tailed her. “We can use the-”

 

“StarkTech store, I saw,” Nat said. “Why come to the mall?”

 

“Lots of people, easy to buy things, easy to blend it,” Stephanie said.

 

“And the blue wig and glasses?”

 

“Nobody expects Captain America to look like a manic pixie dream girl,” Steph shrugged.

 

“How do you know what that is?”

 

“Toni,” Stephanie said.

 

“Oh, right, duh,” Nat said. “I also found the USB drive with the missing chip. Smart switch. I gotta admit, Steph, I’m impressed.”

 

“What, that I’m competent?” Stephanie asked. “Think of it this way, how smart do you think I have to be for male historians to consider me the greatest military strategist since Napoleon? And I don’t even have a Waterloo.”

 

“Point taken,” Nat said. “Of course, your disguises need some work.”

 

“That’s your job,” Stephanie said.

 

Stephanie and Nat found their way inside the store and set up at a StarkLaptop which was boasting optimal processing power. Steph handed Nat the USB, it was a glittery purple drive, but the chip inside was the one she got from Fury. “Nine minutes,” Stephanie said as Nat slipped the USB in the computer and their hands flew across the keyboard. Their brow furrowed deeply after about five minutes of typing and no progress.

 

“Fury was right about that ship; somebody's trying to hide something. This drive is protected by some sort of AI. It keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands,” Nat said.

 

“Can you override it?” Stephanie asked, checking their exits for the nineteenth time.

 

“The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. _Slightly,_ ” Nat said. Nat switched gears, “I'm gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that S.H.I.E.L.D. developed to track hostile malware, so if we can't read the file, maybe we can find out where it came from.”

 

“Do it,” Stephanie said.

 

“Hey, you guys need help?” the long-haired employee said, walking over.

 

“No, we’re alright,” Stephanie smiled. “We’re just looking for a, uh, honeymoon destination.”

 

“Yep, we’re getting hitched,” Nat said, dropping their voice and immediately shifting to more masculine body language.

 

“Congratulations,” The guy said. “So, where were you guys thinking of going?”

 

Stephanie glanced at the screen, “New Jersey,” she said.

 

“Oh,” he nodded, looking a bit put out.

 

“It’s cheaper than New York but only an hour from the heart of Manhattan,” Stephanie tried to explain. “The economy.” She said.

 

“Right!” The guy nodded like he understood what she meant. “Well, if you guys need anything, I’ve been Aaron.”

 

“We’re getting married?” Nat asked when they slipped away.

 

“It was believable, wasn’t it?” Stephanie asked.

 

“If I knew you were gonna make me be a guy while undercover, I would’ve faked a shadow or done contour or something in the dressing room,” Nat said.

 

“You were the one who got heteronormative about it,” Stephanie replied.

 

“Touche,” Nat agreed.

 

“Now, you said nine minutes,” Stephanie said. “We’re pushing ten. We need to go.”

 

“One second,” Nat said. “There, got it.” Stephanie looked at the screen. _Wheaton, New Jersey_. Nat noticed that Stephanie recognized something. “You know it?”

 

“I used to,” Stephanie said. Nat pulled the USB out of the port and stuck the empty one with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo in.  “Now let’s go.” As they walked through the mall, she noticed the STRIKE agents as they started to meander around. “Standard tac-team. Probably angry, I beat them up in an elevator.”

 

“Let me take the lead,” Nat said. “Hold my hand and violate my personal space.” Stephanie obeyed. They looked like every other gross twenty-something couple in the mall. Two agents were approaching. They bent their heads together, “Laugh,” Nat ordered. Stephanie started giggling while Nat chuckled deeply and they passed straight by the STRIKE agents.

 

“That worked,” Stephanie said.

 

“You might be a military strategist, but I’m a master of disguise,” Nat replied. They made their way to the escalator, heading down. Stephanie stood two steps below Nat, so Nat seemed taller. Stephanie turned around when she noticed Brock Rumlow coming up the escalator. “Kiss me,” Nat ordered.

 

“Excuse me?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Nat replied.

 

“Yeah, they do,” Stephanie agreed. Nat rolled their eyes and grabbed Stephanie, pulling her lips to theirs. It was a chaste kiss that felt like nothing more than pressure, but it worked. They stepped off the escalator at the bottom, and Rumlow didn’t even notice them.

 

“You still uncomfortable?” Nat asked as they stepped off.

 

“Not exactly the word I would’ve used,” Stephanie replied. They got out to the parking lot and found a large truck that clearly functional but not nice enough to stand out on the road. Stephanie popped open the lock with Nat’s nail file and hotwired the car. They set off toward New Jersey. They made sure they were out of the city before finally relaxing. Stephanie avoided major highways and toll roads.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside of Westminster, Maryland, Nat finally spoke up.

 

“Where did Captain America learn to steal a car?” Nat asked.

 

“Nazi Germany, Stephanie replied. “And we’re borrowing. Get your feet off the dash.”

 

Nat took their feet off the dash, “Fine, _Mom_.” Stephanie snorted and rolled her eyes. “Alright, I have a question for you,” Nat said. “Which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?”

 

“What?”

 

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” Nat asked with a grin.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Well, it kinda sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

 

“No, I didn't. I just wondered how much practice you've had.”

 

Steph scoffed, “You don’t need practice.”

 

“Everyone needs practice,” Nat replied.

 

“Well,” Stephanie said. “I assume my son doesn’t count.”

 

“Nope!”

 

“Then, yeah, it’s my first kiss since 1945.”

 

“That sucks, I thought you and that lawyer lady-”

 

“Bernie’s just a friend, we’re both single moms with dead husbands and demanding jobs,” Stephanie said.

 

“She also made out with Pepper in college,” Nat reminded Stephanie.

 

“Who wouldn’t have made out with Pepper in college?” Stephanie asked. Nat shrugged and pouted. It was a good point. “I’m a ninety-five-year-old widow. Why is everyone obsessed with my dating life?”

 

“Because you’re the hottest ninety-five-year-old widow around.”

 

“I’m not interested in dating.”

 

“Nobody special?” Nat pushed.

 

“Yeah, except he’s dead,” Stephanie reminded. “I - I know you and Pepper talk about my dating life. And, look, I appreciate that you care. But, I’m alright. I’m satisfied.”

 

“No, you aren’t,” Nat said. Her _vivid_ descriptions of the Winter Soldier and the blush that she got thinking about almost getting killed by a cyborg beefcake proved that.

 

“No, I’m not,” Stephanie agreed.

 

“I mean, I get not falling in love all over again, but what about something to scratch an itch?” Nat asked. “A little bit of fun? Something to take the edge of?”

 

“I can take the edge off with a nice bath,” Stephanie said. “And I can scratch myself just fine.”

 

“Stephanie Barnes!” Nat exclaimed, pretending to be aghast.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Stephanie said. Nat cackled.

 

“Okay, but it’s not like you don’t get itches,” Nat said. “I think you’re itching all over.”

 

“Excuse me?” Stephanie asked.

 

“You’re sexually frustrated and projecting it on the first person who slams you up against a wall and touches you, which just so happened to be the guy who tried to kill you. So maybe you should find somebody to help you scratch before you get killed,” Nat said. As Nat spoke, Stephanie was squinting at them, as if trying to determine if they were sober or joking.

 

“Look, call me old fashioned, but I’m not the kind of girl to be with somebody just for scratching. And I don’t want to be with somebody else for the other reason because it wouldn’t be fair to them. My marriage is right up there with Romeo and Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere, and Orpheus and Eurydice in terms of an epic, tragic romance in popular culture. I know I’m not going to find something that compares and I know nobody wants to be the one to try to compete with the late Bucky Barnes, so why try? And even if I did want to try, it’d be a little hard to find someone with shared life experience.”

 

“It’s just,” Nat sighed, opting for some vulnerability or guilting as an anterior ploy. “You’re always a little sad. And I don’t like it.”

 

“I appreciate that, Nat,” Stephanie said. “But I’m alright being a little sad.” They rode in silence together, “So, do I get to ask you?”

 

“Ask me what?” Nat asked.

 

“About your nonexistent love life?” Stephanie asked. “Or is there actually something between you and Claire?”

 

Nat sighed and sunk into the seat, “It’s different for me. I don’t get itches. And, scratching people is just as much as a tool as killing people. But, uh, I guess there is something between Claire and me. It’s not normal.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be normal to be important.”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“And if you can be yourself around her, that’s good.”

 

“Well,” Nat said. “The truth is a matter of circumstances; it's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

 

“But one of those versions is true to _you_.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Nat agreed half-heartedly. “I never said it was an easy way to live. But it’s a really good way not to die.”

 

“You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is,” Stephanie admitted.

 

“Yeah?” Nat asked. “Who do you want me to be?”

 

“Who _you_ want to be.”

 

Nat laughed softly, “That’s a nice sentiment, Steph. I wish I knew.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, your kind comments (still no anons, I'm sorry) and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> And if you want to talk about Avengers: Endgame you can message me on my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com but I won't be answering anonymous asks about it to keep spoilers off the blog as well (I can't reply to those privately). You can talk to me anonymously on Tumblr about anything else, though!
> 
> Until the next one!


	6. Paperclip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus! Between wrapping up school and moving back home for the summer, I did not have the time or energy to update. So, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

“This is it,” Nat said as they pulled up to the army base shortly after nightfall. “The file came from these coordinates. How do you know about this place?”

 

“SSR training base,” Stephanie said. “I oversaw the Super Soldier training here to look for a candidate.”

 

Nat blinked, “You were the candidate.”

 

“That’s the story,” Stephanie agreed. “The government was doing medical experiments with Howard Stark, and they recommended me because of my chronic everything. I accidentally became a super soldier, none of them knowing just how effective the serum would be. I used my newfound abilities to join the army and become Captain America. It’s a nice story. It’s also a lie.”

 

“What’s the truth?” Nat asked.

 

“The government knew from the beginning that it was going to make a super soldier,” Stephanie said. “I came here with Peggy to oversee their training, who was the lucky first fella. It was basically my choice. I chose wrong because he didn’t survive the procedure. The second guy, I didn’t get to oversee, military picked their roughest and toughest asshole, Hodge. Serum worked. On the same day it did, HYDRA showed up to steal the serum and kill Erskine. I saw the gun. I jumped in front of the way. Hodge pummeled him, got shot about eight times in the process. They both died. I was dying too, infection from the gunshot. Erskine, Peggy, and Howard decided to break the rules, stick me in the pod, pump me with serum, and hopefully, it’d save my life. I didn’t realize what happened until I came out like this.”

 

“I get why they tell us the fairytale,” Nat said. Stephanie could see the gears clicking in their head. “We should head in.”

 

“We should,” Stephanie agreed. As they walked through the abandoned base, Stephanie remembered where Sergeant Duffy would yell at the boys while she sat in a jeep with the heat blasting, scribbling away on a notepad. She could practically see herself now, sitting in that Jeep, bundled up not to catch a cold. Stephanie, with the narrow frame, looked up and gawked at the Stephanie who stood there now. She blinked away the past. 

 

“Changed much?” Nat asked.

 

“Not really,” Stephanie admitted.

 

Nat looked at their phone and sighed with frustration, “This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off.”

 

Stephanie wasn’t so sure. There was a building out of place - very out of place. She started heading toward it.

 

“What is it?” Nat asked

 

“Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place,” Stephanie said. Nat picked the lock and let the two of them in. They stepped into an office.

 

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“Where it started,” Stephanie realized. She remembered Peggy saying that they used the old SSR base. Why had it taken her so long to put two and two together? They walked through the office to a series of portraits. The founders. Peggy’s picture, flanked by Howard Stark and Colonel Chester Phillips.

 

“That’s Stark’s father,” Nat said.

 

“Howard,” Stephanie agreed.

 

“And Peggy Carter,” Nat nodded. “Who’s the guy?”

 

“Colonel Phillips, my old C.O.,” Stephanie said. “He directed S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while before a heart attack. Peggy took over.”

 

Stephanie looked around the room, noticing dust slipping under a bookshelf.

 

“What?” Nat asked.

 

“If you’re already working in a secret office-” Stephanie pushed away from the bookshelf, revealing a worn-down old elevator. “-Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

 

“Secrets under secrets,” Nat said. “Intriguing.”

 

They stepped into the elevator and took it down into the basement. When Nat and Stephanie stepped out, they were in some logistics room. Rows and rows and rows of panels with wiring, tubing, and processing pushed back on both sides of the narrow walkway to the primary monitor system. It was an old computer system, and the entire room was large, but not huge. Stephanie saw wires running into the grating beneath the catwalk, and wondered if there were more levels of this old supercomputer, or perhaps if that was how this thing was getting power via generators.

 

“Well, this can’t be the data point, the technology is ancient,” Nat said, clearly confused. They walked over to the monitor system and saw a USB drive port hooked up to the ancient system. Nat slipped the purple glittery USB drive into the port. Suddenly, the ancient technology in the room started whirring.

 

“Initiate system?” The computer chirped, the same words popping up on the screen.

 

“Y-E-S spells yes,” Nat said as they pounded on the keys.  They smiled as the computer started to whirr even louder, the supercomputers in the far corners of the room were buzzing to life and clicking. “Shall we play a game?” Nat joked. They turned to Stephanie. “It’s from a movie that-”

 

“I know, I saw it, Matthew Broderick Marathon,” Stephanie waved them off dismissively and stepped in beside them at the console. Green lights flickered across the monitor, looking strangely like a face. The computer mounted to the monitor started looking between them.

 

“Barnes nee Rogers, Stephanie Grace,” A German voice said over the speakers. “Born in 1918. The camera turned to Nat, “Romanova, Natalia Alianovna. Born in 1984.”

 

“It’s some kind of recording,” Nat whispered to Stephanie.

 

“I am not a recording,  _ fraulein. _ ” The computer said. “I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am.” One of the side monitors flickered to life. A black and white image of Arnim Zola appeared.

 

“You know this thing?” Nat asked.

 

Stephanie’s eyes scanned the computer, and she walked around the back, inspecting it, “Arnim Zola was a Nazi scientist who worked for Schmidt, his second in command at HYDRA. He’s been dead for years.”

 

“The first correction, I worked with Schmidt for the resources, not because I was a Nazi,” The computer protested.

 

Stephanie laughed as she stepped back onto the monitor platform, “If you knowingly dine at their table, for whatever reason, you’re one of them.”

 

“The second correction,” The computer said. “Look around you; I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving. On 200,000 feet of databanks. You are standing in my brain.”

 

“Your brain is in S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Nat observed.

 

“Operation Paperclip,” Stephanie guessed.

 

“You know about that?” Nat asked.

 

“Peggy told me about it, and I studied up on what happened after the war,” Stephanie said. “The United States agencies granted clemency to Nazis because they thought what they did was admissible as long as they were useful. Peggy’s greatest regret was allowing scum like Zola a second chance.”

 

“Agent Carter was the most resistant, I remember,” Zola said, sounding  _ amused _ . “They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.” An image of the HYDRA logo appeared on the monitor, “Cut off one head; two more shall take its place.”

 

“That’s a fucking octopus,” Stephanie said, the rage of seeing that symbol was visceral.

 

“Prove it,” Nat said, sounding reasonable.

 

“Accessing archive,” Zola said. The monitors started to play. One was shuffling through files. Another one was playing a video of Schmidt’s stupid face and the massive armies of HYDRA. “HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom.”

 

“You’re a bunch of fascist assholes, what’s new?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Well, we did not realize that if you try to take that freedom, they resist,” Zola said, playing war footage of Stephanie charging her way through one of those armies and demolishing what was  in her path.

 

Stephanie gasped, “Really? Who’d’ve thunk it?”

 

“The war taught us much,” Zola continued. “It taught us that humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly.” Clips of the surrender of HYDRA and the resulting trials and reconstruction of Europe danced across the screen. “After the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded,” A picture of Peggy, Howard, and Phillips standing together in an office appeared on the screen. “And I was recruited,” snapshots of his files appeared on the screen. A headline  _ GERMAN SCIENTISTS RECRUITED BY U.S. _ “And the new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D.” Pictures of Zola and scientists working in S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities appeared on the screen. “For seventy years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war.” Clips, files, they all appeared on the screen. Stephanie committed every flash of information to memory, the videos of military operations, stock market crashes, trade wars, protestors and activists being gunned down, legislation to restrict human rights being passed, and some of the worst dictators in modern history. “And when history did no cooperate,” A flash of a metal arm with a red star on the shoulder appeared - an assassin in the background. Files flashed on the screen of mysterious deaths. The Kennedy assassination. A plethora of civil rights activists. The end of an underground resistance leader in Eastern Germany. “History was changed.”

 

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Nat said.

 

“Accidents will happen,” Zola said. Phillips’ medical records popped up, his mysterious heart attack. Then, Howard Stark’s car accident, a transcript with blacked-out text flashed over the headline of his car accident,  _ Winter Soldier Operation 43 Successful _ . Then, there were the files of Nick Fury, recently deceased. “HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice their freedom!” Zola proclaimed as snippets of the various crises in the Middle East, South America, the 9/11 attacks, they all flashed across the monitors. “To gain its security.” CCTV cameras, monitoring, satellite tracking all flashed on the screen. “Once a purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise.” Files flashed on the screen:  _ Project Insight _ . 

 

“Project Insight,” Nat said with recognition.

 

“We won, Captain.”

 

“Not yet,” Stephanie said.

 

“Your death will amount to the same as your life: A zero-sum.”

 

Stephanie leaned close to the monitor, “You haven’t killed me yet.” She took the drive out of the system and pressed the power button. Zola shut off. She jumped off the platform and pulled  off the grating.

 

“What?” Nat asked.

 

“It’s been nine minutes,” Stephanie said. “Zola was stalling, why else would he give away his plan unless he thought we weren’t gonna get a chance to use that intel? HYDRA is coming or sending bombs; those’d probably be faster.”

 

Nat checked their phone, “Short-range ballistic just launched. A minute tops. Where are you going?” Nat asked.

 

“He said 200,000 feet of databanks, and this room is only about 10,000,” Stephanie said.

 

“Oh,” Nat said. Stephanie and Nat slipped through the grating and maneuvered over a processor to a ladder, sliding down nearly five stories into a cavernous basement. They stumbled on the floor.

 

“Vent shaft,” Nat said. They sprinted and kicked out the cover, slipping inside and cowering away as much as they could. The entire building rocked as blasts The building above them caved into the main monitor room. Dust and metal rained down, bouncing off the rest of the computers in the main computer cavern. Nat and Stephanie were basically on their sides, pressed front to back, “We still have no idea what’s on that drive.” Nat said after the dust settled.

 

“You know something about Project Insight,” Stephanie said. “That’s what Zola was hinting at. Their final plan. What do you know?”

 

“I-” Nat said. “Can we talk out there?”

 

“Are we clear?” Stephanie asked. 

 

Nat checked their phone, “Yeah.” They climbed out of the ventilation shaft, stumbled their way through the dust and debris, and climbed the ladder. Stephanie pushed open the grating beneath the platform, and they climbed into the destroyed monitor room. They climbed over the chunks of concrete and rebar into the cavern where the barracks once stood. Stephanie would vault over the building fragments and pull Nat up by the hand. They made their way back to the car, which was, thankfully alright, and they booked it out of there.

 

“Do you want to go to Stark?” Nat asked.

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “I want to keep this as far away from James as possible.”

 

“She could hack this-”

 

“I don’t want to get her involved. She’s supposed to be thinking about what kind of wedding dress she wants right now,” Stephanie said. “Not how to stop neo-Nazis.”

 

“We need to figure out on that’s drive.”

 

“Maybe we don’t need the drive to figure out the plan,” Stephanie said. “Zola isn’t managing things. We had to turn him on. There are other people, people in S.H.I.E.L.D., who are running this Project Insight. They’re the ones we need to go to. What even is Project Insight?”

 

“Three helicarriers,” Nat said. “Arc reactor powered, they never have to come down. Advanced targeting and biometric systems. They’re supposed to take people out before they’re a problem.”

 

“What the hell? How is that legal? It’s definitely not moral,” Stephanie said.

 

“I agreed with you,” Nat said. “So did Nick, I think. He was giving me the pitch for why we needed it, but he didn’t seem like he liked to be doing it. He admitted it wasn’t even his plan. Pierce and the World Security Council assigned it after he discontinued Phase Two at your request. It was weird. Almost like he needed to tell someone about it before he-”

 

“Got assassinated,” Stephanie said.

 

“That’s why he sent Claire and me away for R&R,” Nat said. “He wanted us to be safe.”

 

“When did he do this?”

 

“Right after I got the intel after the Lemurian Star. I was starting to realize it was dirty because things weren’t adding up, he gave me that info. Breadcrumbs and compartmentalization, Fury’s special,” Nat shook their head in disbelief.

 

“What wasn’t adding up?” Stephanie asked.

 

“STRIKE got bad intel,” Nat said. “Incorrect numbers about Batroc’s men. A small detail, but they rarely spoof those.”

 

“Anything else weird about the mission?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Sitwell,” Nat said. “Claire and I couldn’t figure out why a level seven officer was on a satellite launch ship. Especially since he was supposed to be looking for the Clairvoyant with Hand.”

 

“Clairvoyant?” Stephanie asked.

 

“It’s a different thing, don’t worry about it, it’s just weird why he was moved to that ship last-minute,” Nat said. “You said you wanted to go after someone who might know what the hell is going on — Sitwell’s our best bet. But we can’t go after him right away: We have to touch base, we need supplies. All of the S.H.I.E.L.D. stashes I have are probably blown.”

 

“I have a friend,” Stephanie said. “In D.C.”

 

“Sam Wilson,” Nat guessed.

 

“She’s safe,” Stephanie said.

 

“I hope so,” Nat nodded. They glanced Stephanie up and down, “How are you holding up?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You just found out the people you almost died trying to stop have been influencing international politics the entire time you were in the ice, resulting in a chaotic future where they’ve almost gained a fascist global dominion,” Nat said.

 

“Oh, yeah, that sucks,” Stephanie agreed.

 

“But you’re not surprised?”

 

“I’m not surprised that power-hungry tyrants have been influencing society in hopes of gaining more power?” Stephanie asked. “No, I’m not. I’m furious that it’s HYDRA, and that they’re this  close to success, but I’m not surprised. How are you holding up?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You just found out the agency you’ve been working with for nearly a decade is infested with Nazis, and that it’s a high possibility some of the missions you were sent on ended up destabilizing global powers in the long run,” Stephanie said.

 

“Oh, yeah, that’s rough,” Nat sighed. They were very quiet. “I thought I was going straight when I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but...I guess I can't tell the difference anymore. And, well, as you said. If you dine at their table…”

 

“Knowingly,” Stephanie provided emphatically.

 

“I still did bad things.”

 

“Probably,” Stephanie nodded. “So, the question now is, what are you going to do now?’

 

Nat looked out the window pensively, “I owe you. I wouldn’t’ve realized Zola was sending bogeys unless he told us. You saved my life.”

 

“Let’s not keep tally,” Stephanie said. “Let’s just do what we think is right.”

 

“I don’t really have any measure for that,” Nat said. “My morals aren’t very rigid.”

 

“Well, you thought Insight was bad,” Stephanie said. “You don’t like Loki. You don’t want to work for the Nazis. Those are some morals.”

 

“'Fascism is bad' is a pretty easy moral to keep.”

 

“Not for everyone, sadly.”

 

They were quiet together for another hour. While Stephanie focused on driving, Nat was deep in thought. Then, they spoke up, “If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?”

 

“Yes,” Stephanie said without hesitation.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I have faith in people,” Stephanie said. “I have faith that anyone can do good things if they try. And I have faith in you.”

 

“Do I deserve it?”

 

“That’s not for you to determine.”

 

“You seem really chipper for knowing you died for nothing.”

 

“I didn’t die.” Stephanie shrugged.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll do my best to try to return to a semi-normal update schedule.
> 
> As always, your feedback in any form is appreciated!
> 
> Until next time! :)


	7. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind responses to the last chapter!
> 
> I know a lot of you are looking forward to this chapter, so I hope it manages to live up to expectations. As always, I hope that you enjoy it!

 

Stephanie and Nat arrived at Sam’s townhouse right around when she would come back from her morning run. When she swung open the door, a bottle of juice in hand, her eyes shot open. “Stephanie! You haven’t been answering my texts-”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stephanie said. “We need a place to lay low.”

 

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Nat said.

 

“Not everyone,” Sam replied, beckoning them inside and closing the blinds. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’ll explain,” Stephanie said to Nat. “Clean yourself up.” Nat nodded and disappeared. Stephanie and Sam sat down at her dining table. “After I came back from yours, Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., showed up at my suite. An assassin with a metal arm was chasing him. I fought the assassin, but he escaped, and Fury died. Before he did, he gave me a flash drive with intel. S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised; it’s been compromised since the beginning. Operation Paperclip let Nazi scientists working for the United States in exchange for clemency. A HYDRA scientist, Zola, used S.H.I.E.L.D. to continue HYDRA’s global dominion. We think they’re planning a global attack, and Fury found out about it, which is why they killed him. We need to go after an agent, Sitwell, who may have intel on what HYDRA is planning and how to stop it.”

 

“HYDRA, like Nazis?” Sam asked.

 

“Yep,” Stephanie nodded.

 

“Damn,” Sam shook her head. “Can I help?”

 

“Sam-”

 

“Hey, you came here, you expected me  _ not to _ want to help you stop Nazis from taking over the world?” Sam asked. “Look, I’ll make you guys some food and call in sick. You need a shower because you look gross.”

 

“They dropped a building on us,” Stephanie said.

 

“No wonder, then,” Sam said, trying to be light, but looking concerned.

 

* * *

 

 

Once Nat was done, Stephanie took a shower. She changed into clean clothes provided by Sam, a sports bra, a white tank top, and a pair of jeans. Stephanie checked herself in the mirror: The cut above her knee was scabbed over, the bruises around her neck were faded to a pale brown, the burns from the electric baton striking her abdomen were barely pink now. She used the hand mirror to get a look at her back. The injury back there was also mostly healed. However, her body still felt marked. Most notably, she could feel where the Winter Soldier had grabbed her and held on from their fight just over a day ago. The bruises on her legs were almost gone, but his hands were still bludgeoned and set in her mind. She set the hand mirror back down beside Sam’s bottle of estrogen, threw the tank over the bra, and stepped into the kitchen where Nat had said something to make Sam laugh. Sam helped serve up breakfast for the two, and they all talked together.

 

“I was thinking; there’s only one person who could have launched a domestic missile strike from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Nat said. “Secretary Pierce.”

 

“I knew he gave me a bad vibe,” Stephanie said. “Glad to know who the boss is, but Sitwell would be an easier grab.”

 

“Oh, for sure,” Nat said. “Not an easy grab, though, getting a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer in broad daylight. Especially when you’re some of the most wanted people in D.C.”

 

“I can help you with that,” Sam said, setting a thick file on the table and sliding it toward Nat. 

 

“What’s this?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Call it a resume,” Sam said.

 

Nat greedily opened the file and looked at the contents with interest, “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission that was you.” They looked up at Stephanie, “You never told me she was Pararescue.” Nat turned back to the file, “I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?”

 

“No, these,” Sam said, opening a design. It was a schematic for wings with propulsors.  _ Falcon _ the project title proclaimed.

 

“Why’ve you never told me about this?” Stephanie asked.

 

“We never talked shop,” Sam shrugged.

 

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “Because every mission I’ve ever been on can be found at your local library.”

 

“I thought you didn’t like to talk about that stuff,” Sam said.

 

“I thought  _ you _ didn’t like to talk about that stuff.”

 

“Ladies,” Nat said, drawing them back.

 

“Sorry,” Stephanie said. “So… are you sure you want to help? You got out for a good reason.”

 

“My friend needs my help,” Sam said. “There’s no better reason to get back in.”

 

Stephanie nodded. She understood the sentiment, “Where can we get our hands on one of these things?”

 

“The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall,” Sam said.

 

“Easy peasy,” Nat shrugged. Sam looked at them with surprise. Nat smiled, “Now, kidnapping the Pope,  _ that _ was hard.”

 

“When did you kidnap the Pope?” Stephanie asked.

 

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Nat said.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Stephanie was sitting in Sam’s StarkCar, watching through the window. Nat was above on the roof. Sitwell and Senator Stern walked out of a building together after a meeting. They talked for a while, and embraced, spoke for a while more, and then Stern and his security left. Sitwell said something to his chauffeur, and he went to get the car. It was time for Sam to make the call. They watched as Sitwell picked up the phone, looked confused, and then looked around, spotting Sam where she sat outside a restaurant. Sitwell then looked at the car. Sam said something and gave the signal. Nat shined a red laser pointer at Sitwell, and he slowly made his way to the car. He opened the door to the backseat, where Stephanie was waiting. She stepped out.

 

“Captain-” He exclaimed. She clamped a hand over his mouth.

 

“Come with me, Sitwell,” She said. She tucked him under her arm and dragged him up the fire escape and onto the roof. Once they were about twelve stories in the air, she shoved him to the ground. Nat walked over, watching Stephanie with interest. Sitwell scrambled to his feet and backed away.

 

“Tell me about Project Insight,” Stephanie said.

“Never heard of it,” Sitwell lied quickly, continuing to back away from her as she walked toward him.

 

“What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?” Stephanie asked.

 

“I was throwing up. I get seasick,” Sitwell said. His legs hit the edge of the roof, and Stephanie closed in on him, staring him down. “Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof? Because it's really not your style, Barnes.”

 

Stephanie laughed. A ringing, mirthful laugh which set Sitwell even more on edge. “Oh, sweetheart,” She said, laughter still on her lips as she smoothed down his wrinkled tie. “Since when was killing Nazis  _ not _ my style?” His eyes went wide as she shoved him, a hand on either shoulder, and he tumbled off the roof. He screamed on his way down. Stephanie stepped back a bit to give Sam some room.

 

“I think he pissed himself,” Nat said.

 

“One can hope.” Steph agreed.

Sitwell’s screaming got louder as Sam rocketed up with him in her grasp. She dropped him on the roof, and Sitwell rolled. He saw Stephanie pacing toward him again, and he curled up, folded defensively. “Project Insight is a trio of helicarriers that will use Zola’s algorithms to target anyone who is or will be a threat to HYDRA and scratch them off a few million at a time,” Sitwell explained.

 

“How does Zola’s algorithm work?” Stephanie asked.

 

“The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it. Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future,” Sitwell said.

 

“When is the launch?” Stephanie asked. “And how do we stop it?”

 

“Oh, god, Pierce is gonna kill me-”

 

“Tell me,” Stephanie ordered, teeth grit in apparent restraint.

 

“If you get me to the Triskelion, my biometrics will allow you access,” Sitwell said.

 

“Sounds risky,” Nat said.

 

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “Could we disable the algorithm?”

 

“From the helicarriers, maybe,” Sitwell said. “But they’d be locked up until then.”

 

“And when’s the launch?”

 

“Sixteen hours from now.”

 

“Nat, tape please,” Stephanie said. Nat handed Stephanie a roll of duct tape. Stephanie dragged Sitwell by the back of his collar toward the railing of the fire escape, fastening his feet together and his hands to the fence behind his back. The entire time he was squirming and begging.

 

“Please, no, don’t leave me here,” He said. “Please, they’ll kill me. HYDRA hates leaks.”

 

“Not my problem,” Stephanie said.

 

“I promise, I’ve told you everything you could learn from that flash drive!” Sitwell exclaimed.

 

“Good,” Stephanie said. “You can have it back then,” She popped it in his mouth before sticking a piece of tape over his lips. He squirmed and moaned pathetically. “Anybody got a pen?” She asked. Nat handed her a ballpoint pen. She wrote on Sitwell’s forehead.  _ Loose Lips Sink Ships! Love, Stephanie.  _ They abandoned him and started heading down the fire escape.

 

“What are you planning?” Nat asked.

 

“When the helicarriers launch, that’s our way in,” Stephanie said. “We have to disable them. Blow them to hell. The arc reactors are powerful, but they should have vulnerabilities. Not even Toni's tech is infallible. We can use the one in Sam’s car as a reference, maybe even manage to call Toni.”

 

“It won’t be easy once they’re in the air,” Nat said. “Getting in with a lot of explosives.”

 

“Good thing she can fly,” Stephanie motioned at Sam. “It’s all I got, Nat, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not a bad plan; it’s just a rough one,” Nat sighed. “But we can make it work.”

 

They reached the car, “Let me drive,” Stephanie asked.

 

“It’s my car,” Sam protested.

 

“Which Toni gave you because I did a striptease,” Stephanie reminded her.

 

“Do you even have a license?”

 

“If we get pulled over that will not be our first problem,” Nat said.

 

“Fine,” Sam said, tossing Stephanie the keys.

 

* * *

 

 

The car was painstakingly silent as Stephanie drove down the highway. She regularly checked and cataloged the vehicles around her, in both lanes of traffic. They made it to just outside Bethesda when Stephanie realized the same jeep had driven in the opposite lane of traffic past them three times. As it came toward them the fourth time, the window rolled down. Stephanie glanced up in the rearview and her eyes locked with Nat’s. Nat nodded.

 

“Brace for impact,” Stephanie said.

 

“What?” Sam asked.

 

A dark body leaped out of the window of the Jeep. As it went through the air, Stephanie swerved from the middle lane of traffic to the far left lane, the body overshot the roof and latched onto the right side of the car at the last second, narrowly missing becoming roadkill. A metal fist cracked the glass, but the window held.

 

“Thank God for Toni Stark,” Stephanie exclaimed as she turned hard on the steering wheel, jumping to the right lane and grinding the right side of the car against the barrier. The Winter Soldier managed to balance on the roof before he became the beefy filling of a metal and concrete sandwich. Shots went off and ricocheted off the roof of the car. Stephanie saw a S.H.I.E.L.D. car, two of them, driving quickly toward them, trying to ram them. She pressed on the accelerator as they came toward a gap between the barriers of the two opposite directions of traffic. “Hold on!” She exclaimed, swerving the car in a wide arc and barely missing a semi truck. They shot back down the opposite lane of traffic, the Winter Soldier still on the roof of the car, but the HYDRA/STRIKE operatives not being able to pursue them quickly.

 

“The roof’s structural integrity is dropping!” Sam exclaimed, looking at the LCD screen on the console. Indeed, the repetitive clanking noises above them was the Winter Soldier’s fist.

 

“Nat, do you have a grappling hook?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Please don’t tell me you have some dumb idea?” Nat asked.

 

“Depends,” Stephanie said.

 

“I have a grappling line with a mag hook. It can’t support the car, though.”

 

“Can it support you and Sam?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Yeah,” Nat said. “Why?”

 

“There’s a fairly sharp curve up ahead,” Stephanie said. “I’m gonna play chicken, and draw away the Winter Soldier. He’s probably eager for a rematch. You and Sam run, get backup, I’ll find  you if I can. Got it?”

 

“Stephanie-”

 

“Yes or no, Nat.”

 

“Yes,” Nat said. “Sam, get in the backseat with me, get your wings on.” Sam climbed in the backseat and clipped on the Falcon wing pack. Nat handed Stephanie a gun. “Good luck.”

 

“That semi that's passing us,” Stephanie said.

 

Nat nodded. Nat and Sam were wrapped together tightly. Stephanie cracked the driver’s window and started letting off shots to distract the Winter Soldier. At that moment, Nat kicked the door open and let off their grappling hook. It hooked up to the back of the truck passing them, and they were ripped out of the car, latching on. With space, Sam’s wings expanded, and she launched into the air while holding Nat. The Winter Soldier tried to climb in through the open door, but Stephanie slammed the accelerator to its full capacity and aimed the nose of the car right into the barrier of the curve. The vehicle flipped over the wall and onto the street below. The Winter Soldier bailed at the last minute, hanging onto the concrete barrier. Stephane got to see him dangling there by his metal arm as the car twisted through the air and landed hard, rolling in the street. Stephanie was wrenched back and forth in her seat, her head was swimming, and her shoulder ached from where the seatbelt dug in. 

 

When the car finally stilled, it was upside down, and Stephanie was hanging in the seat. She held Nat’s gun with one hand and undid the seat belt buckle with the other. She slipped forward  onto the console and crawled toward the door, pushing it open and pressing her back against the side of the car. She peeked up over the top of the vehicle with the gun in hand. The Winter Soldier was standing on the other side of the barrier, looking at Stephanie. She lifted the gun, and he ducked out of the way. Civilians were stopping around her, watching and getting out of their cars, as if wanting to check in on her. She saw a metal ball fly through the air, originating from where the soldier was crouched. It arced through the air. It landed on the underside of the car. It beeped.

 

“Run!” Stephanie screamed as she sprinted away from Sam’s car. The blast knocked her off her feet and into a vehicle parked on the curb. People screamed and ran, going in all directions after the explosion. Stephanie scrambled behind the car and kept herself low, below the windows. She moved as quickly as she could along the curb. There was a crunch as the Winter Soldier landed on the roof of a car after he jumped off the overpass and followed her. She heard gunshots in the distance.

 

* * *

 

 

After launching into the sky, Sam and Nat made the executive decision  _ not _ to abandon Stephanie to fight the Winter Soldier. “The HYDRA cars,” Nat said. Sam understood. She soared through the air to where the three HYDRA jeeps were parked in a blockade, and the men were scrambling. Sam spun as they shot at her, and Nat pushed out of Sam’s grasp. Nat fell twenty feet and landed on the roof of the car, groaning but rolling off with ease and tackling one of the agents. They put a bite on the back of his neck and grabbed his gun as he seized on the ground. Nat ducked behind an abandoned car and started picking off the men. Stephanie’s fight with the Winter Soldier was getting more intense, as an explosion and a blast of fire took everyone’s attention for a moment. While the STRIKE/HYDRA agents attention turned to the explosion, Sam took another sweep and kicked one of the men Nat couldn’t get a visual on. Sam flipped through the air, contracted her wings, and landed with a slight stumble. Then she picked up the gun and helped Nat take out the rest of the blockade, but it looked like reinforcements were on their way.

 

“I got them! You get Steph!” Sam exclaimed, taking cover. Nat nodded and sprinted down the freeway, assault rifle hitting their back with every pounding stride. They took cover by the turn where Stephanie had played chicken and peered over to assess the situation. Sam’s car was blown up and smoking. The Winter Soldier was walking down the street, shooting at the row of cars, where Stephanie was ducking behind. Nat trained their gun at the Winter Soldier and let off a shot. The Soldier must have realized at the last moment because he moved, the bullet grazing his protective goggles. He dropped them to the ground and trained his gun on Nat, Nat ducked and hurried beneath the concrete barrier, popping up now and again to exchange fire and get Stephanie the chance to escape. Stephanie wasn’t escaping but was actually getting out of cover, going toward the Winter Soldier. Nat, distracted, tried to motion at her to get away, and that’s when they got shot. They immediately fell back below the barrier, grabbing where the bullet had gone in through their shoulder below the clavicle and out their back, missing their scapula. The blossoming pain was sharp and immediate. Nat pressed their hand to the bleeding and heaved out gasps, trying to not hyperventilate through the body’s immediate shock.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie watched as Nat got shot and went down. She grabbed the Winter Soldier’s gun and slipped under his arm, twisting it out of his grasp and hurling it fifty feet away. He swung at her with his left hand, and Stephanie bobbed beneath his grip, grabbing his pistol out of his thigh holster and throwing it away as well. With the momentum of her duck, she went so low that she rolled behind him, landing on her feet and taking the third gun that was strapped to his back. Stephanie grabbed it with both hands and kicked her legs up, pushing off his hips and flipping back through the air. The gun flew into the distance, and she landed on both feet. He spun around and kicked her square in the gut, she slammed backward and hit the asphalt hard, crying out, and then she rolled over her shoulder and pushed off on her feet, sprinting back toward him. 

 

He pulled out a double-edged knife and twirled it delicately in his hand as she approached, holding it in a reverse grip and preparing to swipe. He made a swipe at her abdomen, she skidded her feet back and threw a punch at his face. He batted it out of the way with his metal arm and tried again to stab her in the gut. She blocked his underhand strike by forcing her forearm against his and pushing it away. He bounced off of her forearm and raised his hand, coming down on her in an overhand strike. She caught his arm near the elbow, but he pulled away before she could get a grip. It seemed he learned from their last fight. He never let a limb get in her grasp long enough for her to hold onto it. He swiped at her with the metal arm, and she dodged his punch, knocking it away as she faded backward. He tried to backhand her with the metal arm, and she ducked under it. He twirled the knife into a forward grip and swiped the knife at her abdomen, and she crossed her body and caught his wrist. He continued twisting his body and swung the blade in a backward strike. She crossed again, finding the wrist of the armed hand at flinging it away. He came down at her with the knife, and she twisted her torso and leaned out of the way. He punched at her with the metal arm, and she turned and bent the opposite direction, pushing the metal arm further away.

 

He flung the knife in the air. It spun, and he caught it in reverse grip, the blade swinging straight toward Stephanie’s face. She blocked his forearm with hers. He dropped his arm did an underhand strike. She blocked his forearm with hers. As he took the next swipe, she faded back and got both hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to twist it away. He pushed her shoulder back with the metal arm, shoving her so hard her grip broke, and she stumbled backward, regaining her equilibrium. He swung the knife, and she ducked under his arm, he swung his metal fist, and she faded back, twisting with all her might and slamming her fist into the side of his face. The tactical mask cracked beneath her hand and his head whipped to the side, dark hair flying. She maintained her momentum, jumping, spinning in the air, and shoving her foot into his gut with a powerful kick. He soared back several feet, the knife dropping to the ground, and slammed into a covered pickup truck behind him.

 

Stephanie sprinted and pushed off into the air, launching forward with her hips and slamming the flat of her knee into his leather-bound sternum. He slammed back into the car, his head shattered the passenger’s side window, and his arm broke the side mirror. She sent her elbow careening toward his face, but he blocked it with his metal forearm and struck her in the face. She stumbled backward and pushed away his metal arm as it swung toward her, her hand landed on his chest. His entire right arm slammed toward her, she caught it beneath her underarm, grabbed his arm, and flipped him down over her shoulder and onto the ground. His left side slammed into the asphalt, his head between her knees. He swiped her ankle out from under her with his metal arm, and she fell onto the ground, still holding his arm. As she fell backward, she slammed the back of her leg into his face, the other one thrown over his chest, She tried to push her feet on the ground and pull his arm backward to secure her grip, but he pushed off the asphalt as well and rolled onto her.

 

His right wrist was in her grip at her chest, his right forearm spanned her sternum, and his right elbow dug into her gut just above her navel. Her legs were rolled between them. She was straining to keep distance between his body and hers, pushing with her thighs and her hips to keep him from rolling all the way and being able to reach her with the metal arm. For good measure, she crossed her legs around his metal shoulder, limiting his range of motion. He couldn’t reach her head. He decided that he had nothing to gain in this position because he dug his left hand into the asphalt and pushed off on his right leg. They rolled through the air, he was anchored to the ground, and she knew that if she let him finish this arc through the air and was still holding on, her head was going to be bashed into the ground. So, she let go. The force of his turn sent her into the air, and she rolled backward to soften her landing. She twisted up to her feet and saw his metal hand relax, the ground where he held on was cracked with holes where his fingers had curled in.

 

He surged toward her and sent a right uppercut. She blocked him. He swung a left hook to her head, but she flung her arm back and gripped her neck, preventing him. He wound and hit her guard with a second left hook, the metal fist made her arm jolt and with pain. With the force of his hit, she reeled back and sent an uppercut into his jaw. His head snapped backward, but he sent a third left hook, his time slamming his entire forearm into her side and tossing her into a van on her left. He pulled out another knife, kicked her in the stomach, so she slammed against the van again, and brought the reverse-grip knife down over her head. She caught her forearm with his and pushed her free hand to give extra support. He struggled with his free hand, which was attached to the metal arm, and she felt that she was losing the battle of strength, She slipped to the side and allowed the knife to sink to the hilt in the van behind her. She had both hands on his right forearm now. His knife in the van didn’t discourage him. He started to move toward her head, and she had to move with him to keep her head out of the way. A deep gash scratched the side of the van as he tried to slide the knife into her. As they reached the end of the van, she tucked her head under his forearm, grabbed him around the waist, and spun behind him. She squeezed his substantial bulk to keep in in her grip and flung him over her, his head colliding in the ground. The weight of him sent her onto her back as well, but she leaped to her feet as he rolled over his shoulder and swung her shin into his head. His head sagged to the side as it thudded against her leg, and he skidded on his right side, the blade of the knife snapped on the asphalt, and he tossed it away angrily.

 

He strutted toward her, shoulders and hips swinging with his heavy pace. She had been so focused on walking him walk toward her; she barely managed to duck his next swipe. He continued to swipe at her violently. Not getting hit was a priority far more than getting a hit in, he was incredibly strong. She took advantage of her agility and grace, dancing around him, dodging, ducking, and deflecting his strikes. He sent a kick at her, and she brought her leg up, catching his shin with hers. As their legs knocked together, they both stumbled backward and groaned in pain. He swung at her, and she ducked, pounding her fist into his abdomen, and knocking the wind from him. He exhaled sharply continued rotating with the momentum of his metal arm. As he went one way, she went the other and slipped behind him, grabbing his right arm and twisting it behind his back. He tried to shake her off, but she put one hand on his mask while the other kept drawing his right hand toward his shoulder blades. Her body was pressed flush to his, and she could feel his muscles straining and trembling beneath the leather of his uniform. He stomped on her foot. Her eyes watered, and she cried out. She clamped her hand across his face and twisted her body, throwing him over her shoulder. The mask popped off of his face as he hit the ground and rolled over his shoulder. His back was to her. She squinted at him as he turned around to glare at her.

 

Stephanie felt every muscle in her body go slack, and she almost collapsed on the ground then and there. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Stephanie didn’t know if she wanted to. She stumbled backward, her arms and legs were like jelly. Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she was sure even he could hear it. How could this be real? But that face, she knew that face. She knew that square jaw, that dimpled chin, those blue-grey eyes. How was this possible?

 

_ "Bucky?" _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, the big reveal! Which, I'm sure wasn't a surprise to any of us, but it was fun to write. I'm especially looking forward to the next chapter, I'll say it's a bit more experimental than my usual prose, but I'm pretty pleased with it.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. As always, I appreciate your feedback immensely. I especially love hearing from you, either as a comment here or through my Tumblr for this series: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.
> 
> Until the next one!


	8. Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your continued readership and kind responses! I'm looking forward to this chapter because of some of the experimentations I did with prose and point of view, so I hope you all enjoy it!

 

The soldier’s first target was Nicholas Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a traitor to HYDRA. The soldier did not know how Fury betrayed HYDRA. It was not his concern. As the Winter Soldier, as the Asset, as  _ Soldat _ , his sole responsibility was doing what the handlers assigned. Fury, however, was skilled and equipped. He evaded the soldier in his first attempt, escaping to the underground of the city. It took the soldier seven hours to track him. When he finally found Fury, the soldier was confident. He had his sights on Fury, who had gone to a hotel suite as a means to escape. The soldier had Fury in his crosshairs when the woman appeared. The tall, blonde, and athletic woman was also annoyingly smart. She dragged Fury to the room in the suite with internal walls only. The soldier couldn’t take the shot, even through the walls. He would have to go into the suite. 

 

With permission from command and no reported concerns of alerting authorities, he cleared the street in a running leap and latched his metal hand onto the fire escape. He climbed up and broke through the window to the suite. He blasted through the wall and door of the interior room, emptying the entire clip. As he went to reload, the woman broke the door down. She snapped his gun into two, injuring herself in the process. When he pulled out his backup, she disarmed him, tried to shoot him, and then threw the gun away when she realized he had a bulletproof limb. He went at her with the knife, but she pulled them both to the ground and had him break his knife. She got control, he fell forward onto her, and she grappled her way onto his back, nearly choking him out before he managed to get her off. He choked her and threw her onto the bed.

 

When he saw her on the bed, that was when there was a malfunction. The soldier froze. He was never supposed to freeze. He didn’t understand why he froze. He looked at the woman, finally getting a good view of her. The woman who kept up with him hit for hit, who disarmed him thrice in moments. She was tall, and she was strong, and her hair was a damp, dark gold around her face. Her eyes were blue and calculating. Her lips were pink and parted. Her chest heaved wildly as she breathed. Somehow, there was something in the back of his head, as innate as his ability to shoot, which kept him frozen, looking at her. She stayed still, as well. They stared at each other. It was a strange and undefined moment, with a winding cord growing more and more tense as the air thrummed with something. It never snapped. Command was in his ear: police were coming. He had to leave - he had shot Fury, she was not the target. He left.

 

In the mission debrief, he didn’t tell them that he froze when he saw the woman, even though he knew he should have. He was not put back in the cold. He was allowed to sit in a cell and wait for further instruction. He thought about her. He memorized how she fought. Her quick strikes. Her determined movements. The damp heat of her skin. Her strong arms around his neck and her strong legs around his waist. Her body, unyielding to his ruthless force. Her hand at the back of his head, fingers against his scalp. She was strong, and she knew how to use her body to take advantage of that. Once you were in her grip, the fight became getting out of it. He had fought many, either targets or those protecting targets. She was different.

 

The next day, he was given two more targets. She was one of them: The Captain. The second was an Agent Romanoff. He assumed that she was a traitor of HYDRA for protecting a target. He assumed Romanoff was a traitor for being her partner. Their lead was HYDRA Officer Sitwell. It was likely that the Captain took him for information. They found him on a rooftop, taped up. On his forehead, the Captain had left a message.

 

_ Loose Lips Sink Ships. Love, Stephanie _ .

 

Was that the Captain’s name? Stephanie?

 

He saw that message, and he froze again, something stirring, but the men he was with focused him back. Sitwell had intel in his mouth. The Captain’s message was clear. Sitwell had given  her what she needed, and she gloated to HYDRA of her success. It was determined the Captain was with another ally, Sam Wilson. Pararescue. Sitwell was disposed of for his betrayal. The  Soldier tracked Wilson’s car. It was on the freeway. The soldier had the agent escorting him drive past the car three times on the highway to confirm that the Captain and Romanoff were  inside, as was Wilson. It might have been a risk to drive past thrice, but the confirmation was vital. The Soldier jumped on their car the fourth time passing, and the Captain knew he would. She swerved. He nearly tumbled into traffic then and there. Romanoff and Wilson escaped with Wilson’s wings. The Captain drove into a barrier. The Soldier jumped at the last moment. The Captain survived the crash.

 

He wasn’t sure why her recklessness infuriated him so much. He was offended that she was so hard to kill when she put herself in so many easily dangerous circumstances. He tried to blow her up, but she outran his grenade. He wanted to shoot her, but she managed to avoid him. When Romanoff started attacking him, he shot Romanoff. He did not confirm the fatality. The Captain attacked him as he was distracted.

 

Again, as they fought, she matched him strike for strike. He was fast and strong, but she was quicker and more agile. She disarmed all three of his guns with embarrassing ease. They fought again. He took out a knife, but she blocked him, he didn’t even get a scratch on her. She could match his every assault. She could dodge him, deflect him, and push him back. When he wielded it, she knocked the first knife out of his hand and slammed him into a car. She got him into a grapple, but he managed to throw her off. He had no more success with the second knife, breaking it on the asphalt as she threw him to the ground. Disarmed completely, unless he wanted to try his luck with a grenade she could probably outrun again, he hoped he could outlast her, but it seemed her stamina was as good as his, if not better. The Captain kept up with him, face set with permanent determination, golden hair flying with her every movement. She pinned his arm behind his back. He stomped on her foot. She threw him through the air with one hand like he was some doll ( _ Babydoll? _ ). His mask fell off. He turned to look at her.

 

When she saw his face, her reaction was not what he expected. When she saw his face, she dropped her guard. When she saw his face, shock crossed hers. When she saw his face, she stumbled backward. When she saw his face, all her poise and grace left. When she saw his face, she looked at him with familiarity. When she saw his face, he froze.

 

“Bucky?” She asked, her voice was gentle and surprised. She was gaping at him.

 

Bucky? What? The Soldier did not understand her question. It was a name. It had to be a name. That wasn’t his name. Was it his name? 

 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He asked her, turning toward her. He should attack her, but with what?

 

“But-” She stuttered. “No,” She backed away. Fear wasn’t the right word to describe her expression. It was devastation. “No, no, no-” She stumbled over her feet and her words. “You’re dead.” That wasn’t a threat. It was a statement. It was a statement laced with grief. The Soldier did not understand. “You’re dead!” She repeated, she protested, she said as if it would change something. When it didn’t, she looked even more confused. Even more devastated. “Bucky,” She said again. Then her eyes widened.

 

Behind him, something slammed into the Soldier. He tumbled through the air and rolled hard on the ground. Wilson, with the wings, flew past him. He climbed to his feet and turned back to the Captain.

 

_ Bucky,  _ she had called him.

 

_ Love, Stephanie,  _ she had written.

 

Her golden hair and blue eyes and pink lips.

 

He froze, and he didn’t know why. It was like he knew what to do when a punch was coming, his body did it without his mind telling it to. Now, his body wasn’t moving even though he needed it to. She was the target. He had a mission. What the hell was going on? Who the hell was Bucky?

 

She was frozen too, he realized. She gazed at him, eyes unblinking, as if she was afraid he would disappear in front of her. The devastation transformed into a look of desperation. He felt like she was studying - no not studying, memorizing - no not memorizing, consuming. She was consuming him with her eyes. For a few moments, the only thing the Soldier was aware of was that she was looking at him, and he was looking at her.

 

Sirens sounded behind him.

 

“We need to go!” Wilson exclaimed, dragging the Captain. Wilson had Romanoff, alive, under her arm. The Captain resisted. She didn’t want to stop looking at him.

 

Sirens.

 

HYDRA.

 

The Mission. 

 

The soldier turned away from her to look around as reinforcements rolled in. Four cars, men on motorcycles, men on foot. They surrounded the three. 

 

“Get to your knees, Cap!” Rumlow exclaimed.

 

The Soldier looked at the Captain: she was still staring at him. She surrendered immediately: she was still staring at him. Rumlow said something to her that she ignored: she was still staring at him. She was dragged into the back of a van: she was still staring at him. The only time she fought her captors was when they tried to load her into the containment unit. She resisted so she could stare at him a moment longer before they forced her inside. Rumlow sent away the van and walked over to the Soldier.

 

“Good job, we have the targets,” He told him. “Are you alright?”

 

The soldier did not let his confusion come to the surface, “Mission complete.”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Rumlow said. “We’re heading back to HQ for a debrief.”

 

The soldier let them escort him to debrief.

 

* * *

 

 

As he was brought back to HQ, the aching sensation in the back of his mind was coming for a forefront, and he doubted it was from a head injury. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Captain. Stephanie. Her name was Stephanie. She called herself Stephanie. 

 

Stephanie. Stephanie. Steph. Steph. Little Steph.

 

What? Little Steph? That woman wasn’t little.

 

But wasn’t she little, once?

 

When, once? He didn’t know her.

 

He knew her.

 

He didn’t know her.

 

She knew him: she called him Bucky.

 

She was wrong.

 

Is he Bucky?

 

No, he’s the Soldier.

 

The Captain is also Stephanie. Maybe the Soldier could also be Bucky.

 

She looked at him.

 

Pink lips.

 

Blue eyes.

 

Gold hair.

 

Stephanie.

 

_ The way _ she looked at him.

 

Steph.

 

* * *

 

 

He was stripped from his gear and brought to the chair for medical analysis. They were in a temporary facility, a bank vault. HYDRA stood guard; they checked the function of the arm. They recalibrated it. Standard procedure. He stared blankly ahead. The ache in his head was getting worse. He saw something. A man with a round face and glasses. It was something from his past. 

 

“Sergeant Barnes,” The man said, his voice warbled and throbbed in the Soldier’s head. There was a sudden jolt through him, and it wasn’t from the arm. He shot upright.

 

He remembered the train. 

 

He remembered an explosion.

 

He was holding onto a cable, and above him, hand outstretched, was the Captain. Stephanie. She screamed at him, her golden hair rippling in the cold wind, “Bucky, no!” She exclaimed, he was falling, he was scared, she was devastated.

 

He remembered white.

 

He remembered cold. 

 

He remembered blinking awake.

 

He remembered the pain.

 

He remembered being dragged through the snow.

 

He remembered the pain.

 

He remembered looking down at his arm and seeing a bleeding stump.

 

He remembered the pain.

 

He remembered the bandages.

 

He remembered being naked.

 

He remembered the pain.

 

He remembered being cold in a cell.

 

He remembered sobbing

 

_ Captain America’s Funeral Draws Thousands _

 

He remembered the pain.

 

He was in a surgery room; men with tools surrounded him. Latex gloves and needles. They cut away what was left of his rotting, black arm. “The procedure has already started,” one said.

 

He remembered the pain. 

 

He remembered the pain. 

 

He remembered the cold.

 

He thrashed in his seat. 

 

He remembered waking up, looking at his hands. One was metal, and one was flesh.

 

“You are to be the new fist of HYDRA,” they said.

 

HYDRA.

 

HYDRA is bad.

 

The doctor came close. He closed his metal hand around the man’s windpipe.

 

HYDRA is bad.

 

The other doctors rushed on him, stabbed him with a needle.

 

He remembered waking up again.

 

He remembered the man with the round face and the glasses.

 

“Put him on ice.” They said.

 

He remembered looking at his own expression.

 

He remembered the ice surrounding him.

 

He remembered reaching for the glass.

 

Rage burned through him. He threw away the technicians working on him. They slammed to the ground. The guards trained their guns on him. He hunched over, shuddering and clenching.  More men came in, guns trained on him. He stayed hunched over, trembling. Confused. He stared into the distance.

 

The Captain.

 

Stephanie.

 

Steph.

 

He knew her.

 

Golden hair, blue eyes, pink lips, she was small once.

 

Bucky, she called him.

 

Bucky, she cried after him.

 

He knew her.

 

She knew him.

 

She watched him fall.

 

She thought he died.

 

He wasn’t dead.

 

The handler and Rumlow entered the room. “Mission Report,” the handler said. The Soldier did not respond. “Mission report now,” the handler said impatiently. He knew he should obey; he should follow the procedure. HYDRA had protocols for a reason. He continued to stare blankly ahead. The handler stepped forward and leaned into his view, and his hand cracked across the soldier’s face. 

 

That broke the soldier from his daze as he turned to look at the handler. But there was only one thing on his mind. “The woman on the bridge,” He said. The Captain. Stephanie. Her face  floated into his mind. Her golden hair. Her bright, blue eyes. Her pink lips. They were familiar, especially when they said his name. “The Captain. Who was she?”

 

The handler looked at him. “You met her earlier this week on another assignment, remember?” The handler said.

 

That wasn’t it - it was more than that. He knew her: that was the only thought. The most important thought. He knew her. “I knew her,” he said.

 

The handler sighed and licked his lips. He dropped to his knees in front of the soldier.

 

“Your work has been a gift to mankind,” he said. “You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time.” The soldier didn’t want to. “Society is at a tipping point between order and  chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push.” But he had to. “But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves.”  He had to for HYDRA.

 

But he knew her.

 

He knew her golden hair.

 

He knew how it smelled.

 

He knew her blue eyes.

 

He knew how they twinkled.

 

He knew her pink lips.

 

He knew what they felt like.

 

“But I knew her,” Bucky said.

 

He knew her.

 

The handler stood up.

 

He knew her.

 

“Prep him,” the handler said.

 

He knew her.

 

“He’s been out of cryofreeze too long,” a technician said.

 

He knew her.

 

“Then wipe him and start over,” the handler said.

 

He knew her.

 

He didn’t want to forget her.

 

They forced him back in the chair.

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

They gave him something to bite down on.

 

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

He leaned his head back. Metal clamps tied his arms down.

 

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

He knew what was coming: Pain. Pain was coming.

 

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

He heard the static crackle by his ears as the machine lowered over his head. His breathing quickened. Bile rose in his throat.

 

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

He was trembling in anticipation. Pain was coming.

 

He knew her, and he didn’t want to forget her.

 

The metal closed around his head. The machine whirred and clicked. Any moment now-

 

Pain.

 

He screamed and bit down on the mouthpiece.

 

He knew-

 

Pain.

 

He didn’t want to forget-

 

Pain.

 

He-

 

Pain.

 

Pain.

 

Pain.

 

He forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback in whatever form is always appreciated, either here or on my Tumblr blog: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com


	9. Directive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been interacting with, reading, and continuing to enjoy this fic! It means a lot to me to have your continued support! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's very much the quiet before the action-packed climax to the events of CA:TWS.

 

Stephanie didn’t understand how it was possible, but she knew, somehow, the Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes. Bucky was alive. She didn't know how. She didn’t know what happened to him since he fell. She didn’t understand all at once. The clues came in a slow trickle. But she knew he was alive. She knew, somehow, he was controlled by HYDRA. And she knew that, somehow, he had no idea who she was.

 

She, Sam and Nat were restrained in the back of a HYDRA van. While they were just chained in with handcuffs, she was completely restrained, like an animal. Large cuffs at her wrists, arms, legs, ankles, and waist. Cuffs that were clearly built for someone as strong as her. There was extra bracketing on the left side.

 

“Stephanie, are you alright?” Sam asked.

 

What Stephanie did next, she wasn’t particularly proud of doing. At that moment, she wasn’t thinking like Captain America. She wasn’t thinking like a soldier. She wasn’t thinking like a leader. She was thinking like a woman who had watched her husband die, mourned him, and then saw him come back with no memory of who she was. She started wailing. She started sobbing. Those sobs of hers were far from pretty. It wasn’t a gentle tear down her cheek, or red eyes, or a slight sniffle. It was heaving sobs, tears streaking down her cheeks, snot dribbling down her chin. It was  the kind of sobbing that made her gasp for air between wails and made her shoulders shake, and her vision go completely blurry.

 

“Stephanie!” Sam and Nat were trying to calm her down.

 

“Shut up!” one of the HYDRA guards said. But it even put them on edge to see Captain America bawling her eyes out while entirely restrained. And they didn’t want to get in the way of that.

 

But all she had at that moment were her sobs. They wracked her body, she dropped her head down and trembled. Her face was slick and salty. Her shoulders heaved violently. Her stomach clenched with hiccups that were so loud and abrupt that the people in the truck with her winced. She barely noticed when the middle guard took out the other two and pulled the helmet off her head. She barely noticed when Maria Hill freed Sam and Nat and then started releasing her. It was Sam that brought her back to reality, while Hill was giving first aid to Nat.

 

“Stephanie!” Sam exclaimed, “Stephanie, it’s alright; your friend Hill is here.”

 

Stephanie choked back the next sob, lurched with a hiccup, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She turned to look up at Sam. “My husband is alive.”

 

“Stephanie?”

 

“I’m married to the Winter Soldier,” she said.

 

Hill and Nat snapped to look up at her.

 

“Steph, it was probably a trick-”

 

“It wasn’t,” Stephanie said. How could it have been a trick? They never wanted the mask to come off. And even if they did decide to give him some cosmetic to have her husband’s face now, they had no plans of doing that when Fury went to her. And those steel blue eyes, the same ones she saw every night when she read her son to sleep, how could she not recognize them?

 

“How is that even possible? it was seventy years ago,” Sam said.

 

“Zola,” Stephanie croaked. “Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and…”

 

“None of that is your fault, Steph,” Nat tried to assure her.

 

“Who cares about  _ fault _ ?” Stephanie exclaimed. “My husband is alive, and HYDRA brainwashed him, so he doesn't even know who he is! He tried to kill me!” She fell back onto herself, hugging herself.

 

“I’m sorry, Stephanie,” Hill said. “But we need to get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hill led them to a secret facility in Virginia. As soon as they appeared in the med bay, medics swarmed around them. They focused on Nat, who was bleeding.

 

“GSW,” Hill said. “They’ve lost at least a pint.”

 

“Maybe two,” Sam added.

 

“Let me take them,” The doctor said.

 

“They’ll want to see him first,” Hill said. Stephanie, Sam, and Nat followed Hill, curious who ‘he’ was. They approached a bed in the ward, and lying there, was Nick Fury. Alive.

 

“About damn time,” he said when he saw them. Hill allowed the medics to start patching up Nat in a seat beside Fury’s bed. Sam sat down too and had the doctors check her over. Stephanie  could feel the bruises forming, but she waved away the medics and focused on Fury.

 

“Does anybody stay dead?” Stephanie asked dully after looking at Fury in the bed for a full minute and watching him breathe. After her sobbing cleared up, she was left feeling empty and, somehow, painfully numb.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fury asked.

 

“The Winter Soldier,” Stephanie said.

 

“You mean asshole who shot me?”

 

“I’m his wife.”

 

“What?”

 

“James Buchanan Barnes is the Winter Soldier,” Stephanie said. “He’s alive. Brainwashed by HYDRA, I guess. He had no idea who I was.”

 

“Are you sure-”

 

“She’s sure,” Nat said. “Are you alright?” She asked Fury.

 

“Oh,” Fury said. “As good as you can be with a lacerated spinal column, a cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, one hell of a headache.”

 

“Don’t forget your collapsed lung,” The doctor said.

 

“Oh, let's not forget that. Otherwise, I'm good.”

 

“They cut you open,” Nat said with disbelief. “Your heart stopped.”

 

“Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for her, but we found a use for it.”

 

“Can’t get assassinated if you’re already dead,” Stephanie said.

 

“Exactly,” Fury said.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nat asked. Of course, everyone knew Nat wondered why Fury hadn’t told  _ them _ .

 

“At the time, I wasn’t sure who I could trust,” Fury said, sounding slightly apologetic. Slightly.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie finally let the medics check her out. She had a new layer of blue and purple bruises on her skin, but all of her fresh injuries were external. Stephanie, Nat, Sam, Hill, and Fury met again in a meeting room to discuss how they were going to put an end to Insight. Fury was looking at a photo of him and Alexander Pierce. “This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize,” Fury said, shaking his head. “He said peace wasn't an achievement; it was a responsibility.” He said the picture down and leaned back, “See, it’s stuff like this that give me trust issues.”

 

“We have to stop the launch,” Nat said.

 

“I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore,” Fury said. He pulled a briefcase off the floor and set it on the table. He popped it open. Inside were three microchips.

 

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

 

“Once the Helicarriers reach three thousand feet, they'll triangulate with Insight satellites becoming fully weaponized,” Hill explained.

 

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own,” Fury added.

 

“One or two won't cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work because if even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lot of people are gonna die.” Hill continued.

 

“We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA. We need to get past them, insert the server blades, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left-” Fury tried to finish,  but Stephanie cut him off.

 

“We're not salvaging anything. We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we're taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Stephanie said.

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has nothing to do with it,” Fury said.

 

Stephanie scoffed, “S.H.I.E.L.D. has everything to do with it. S.H.I.E.L.D. was built on rotten foundations. You can’t begin to fix it unless you tear everything down. HYDRA has been under  your nose this entire time, and nobody noticed.”

 

“Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed,” Fury argued.

 

“And how many paid the price before you did?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Look, I didn’t know about your husband-”

 

“This isn’t just about my husband. It’s about Howard Stark, and Chester Phillips, and the dozens of other skeletons in HYDRA’s closet,” Stephanie said. “S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA both have to  go or it’s a zero-sum game.”

 

“She’s right,” Hill said.

 

Fury looked at Nat, and they nodded. Fury turned a speculative eye to Sam.

 

“Don’t look at me,” Sam said defensively. She motioned to Stephanie, “I do what she does, just slower.”

 

“Well,” Fury said, clearing his throat. “Looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain.”

 

Stephanie nodded, “The World Security Council, you said Pierce invited them to see Insight launch? That’s a way in. We need to get close to Pierce.”

 

“I can use a mask,” Nat said. “Who do you want me to go as?”

 

“Councilwoman Hawley is your height,” Fury said.

 

“Alright, Hill and I can apprehend her and make the swap,” Nat said. “Then what?”

 

“When you’re in Pierce’s office, you get his access, and you make sure the world knows exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA have been doing for the last century,” Stephanie said. “Every secret. Every mission. Every assassination.”

 

“That’s going to be a mess,” Fury said.

 

“And it’s going to cost HYDRA its most important asset: it’s secrecy,” Stephanie said.

 

“You’re the boss, Cap,” Fury sighed.

 

“Nat will handle airing out the dirty laundry, which means that Sam, Hill, and I will take out the helicarriers. Hill, I need you on backup to run this thing. Sam and I will switch out the chips.”

 

“What about the rest of SHIELD?” Nat asked. “Not everyone is HYDRA.”

 

“We give ‘em a fighting chance,” Stephanie said. “Announced what’s going to happen before it does. Not just to SHIELD, to the world. Can we do that?”

 

“Get in the Triskelion comm room, and you can broadcast to every computer, phone, television, and radio in the country,” Maria Hill said.

 

“Good,” Stephanie said. “I’m willing to bet HYDRA’s branched out a bit, so the more we can make them quake, and the more good people we can put on alert, the better it is.”

 

“Your husband is gonna be there, you know,” Sam said.

 

“I know,” Stephanie said flippantly.

 

Sam sighed, “Look, whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop.” She looked at Stephanie meaningfully. “If you need me to-”

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “Look, I’ll stop him if I have to. I’ll kill him if that’s what keeps HYDRA from successfully launching their new world order. I will kill my husband if that means our son gets a good chance in this world, but-” Stephanie took a shaky breath. “Don’t expect me to survive that.”

 

“You might not have to kill him,” Nat said. “I’ve been brainwashed. Claire’s been brainwashed. We’re better now. There’s hope.”

 

Stephanie smiled, “Look at you, having faith in people.” Nat glanced away for half a second, betraying their embarrassment for a moment before returning to their calm and collected and generally unreadable self. “Trust me: I’m gonna try to save him. I’m going to fight to save him as I’ve never fought for anything before. But if I do have to take him down, I’m going down with him, and none of you get to stop me.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said. The rest of them nodded.

 

“Good, now, I’m gonna need some gear.”

 

“We have a fully stocked armory here,” Hill said.

 

“I’m gonna need  _ my _ gear,” Stephanie said.

 

* * *

 

 

Nat, Sam, and Stephanie broke into the museum with ease. They went over to the Captain America exhibit. Nat got to work on disabling the alarm protecting Stephanie’s shield and old uniform behind a layer of bulletproof glass. Stephanie stared at the picture of Bucky on his glass memorial.

 

“How are you holding up?” Sam asked.

 

“Not the best,” Stephanie admitted. “I just - I have so many questions. And I know I’m not going to like the answers. I know. He was behind enemy lines for a few weeks, and he was tortured  and experimented on by Zola. Now I know they’ve had him for the last seventy years.”

 

“Do you have a plan?” Sam asked.

 

“He froze,” Stephanie said. “When he attacked Fury, and I fought him. And again, when I said his name. Which means, somewhere, deep down, he’s fighting. I know he is. I just, I gotta help him. I gotta make him remember. I gotta break through decades of Nazi mind control and conditioning.”

 

“And donning your old suit might have something to do with that?” Sam asked.

 

“I hope so,” Stephanie said. “If he almost recognized me when I was in my pajamas, then this should be a real trigger.”

“We’re in,” Nat said. They opened the panel in the glass and opened the narrow gap for accessing the display. Nat worked quickly and efficiently, stripping the female mannequin and removing Stephanie’s old uniform and vibranium shield. Stephanie stood outside the glass entryway to receive them.

 

“That’s all?” Nat asked.

 

“Can you get Bucky’s coat?” Stephanie asked. “I know it’s not  _ Bucky _ ’s coat, but-”

 

“I get it,” Nat said. They pulled the dark blue peacoat off the mannequin and handed it to Stephanie. “I got it.”

 

“Good, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Sam said.

 

* * *

 

 

Nat and Maria had gone to get Councilwoman Hawley. Maria would come back when it was time for Stephanie and Sam to leave. Stephanie knew there was only one thing she wanted to do with the few hours she had left before the Insight launch. She got ahold of a burner phone from Fury, and she called JARVIS, patching through to Toni.

 

“Stephanie!” Toni exclaimed. “What the hell is going on, I’ve seen on the news-”

 

“Are you safe?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Yeah,” Toni said. “We’re at the shelter. Dad built it to withstand a nuclear apocalypse.  What’s going on?”

 

“I can’t say much,” Stephanie said. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stephanie-”

 

“I’ll explain when it’s over,” Stephanie promised. “Can I talk to James?”

 

“Sure, he’s just playing with Pep,” Toni said. “Hey, Jimmy! Your Mommy’s on the phone.” 

 

There was crackling, and James’ voice burst through the phone, “Mommy! Mommy! I’m in da woods!”

 

“That’s great, bubba,” Stephanie said, nearly bursting into tears again as she heard his voice. “You like it?”

 

“Thewe’s so many twees,” He said.

 

“Sounds like the woods.” Stephanie smiled.

 

“How’s vacation, Mommy?” James asked.

 

“Oh, I hate it,” Stephanie said. “I would much rather be in the woods with you.”

 

“Me too,” James agreed somberly. His voice dropped to a whisper, “Can you be nice to Aunt Toni? She’s scawuhd.”

 

“She’s scared?” Stephanie asked.

 

“She says that thewe was, thewe was bad stuff on the TV,” James said. “She didn’t wet me see, but she was tawking to, to, um, she tawked about it.”

 

“I’ll be sure to be nice,” Stephanie smiled. “James, I have something important I need to tell you.”

 

“What, Mommy?” James asked.

 

“I love you,” Stephanie said. “I love you so much. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me, James, and I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I will always love you. Even if I’m not there.” She was fighting tears, trying not to sound too sad for her son.

 

“I wove you too, Mommy,” James said.

 

“I have to go now,” Stephanie said. “Can you give the phone back to Aunt Toni?”

 

She heard as the receiver crackled again. “Stephanie, please, tell me what’s going on?” Toni asked.

 

Stephanie sighed, “I have an old mission that I need to finish,” Stephanie said. “Toni, if, if I don’t come back-” Her voice cracked. “-will you and Pepper take care of James for me?”

 

“Like he’s our own,” Toni promised.

 

“Thank you, Toni,” Stephanie said.  “I love you, Toni. And I love Pepper, too. Make sure she knows.”

 

“Steph-”

 

“I need to go.” She hung up the phone and then took the battery out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. I hope you liked this chapter. It was very much a sort of lull between two of my favorite chapters I wrote for this story (the previous chapter and the upcoming one), but I hope you appreciated it nonetheless. As always, your feedback in its many forms is appreciated, whether it be here on AO3 or my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.


	10. Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and providing feedback on the last chapter. I'm glad to see all of you continue to enjoy this fic. I've decided today, in honor of the Fourth of July and Captain America's birthday, to post a double-update. So, I hope you all enjoy today's update of this chapter and the next in quick succession.

 

Putting on her gear before a mission was so rooted in Stephanie that she didn’t need to think about it. She did her hair first, pulling it into a tight braid and then curling that braid around itself and securing it in a knot with a tie. She slipped the uniform on, zipped it in the back, latched her harness around torso, pulled on her guards, pulled on her boots, placed a pistol on either thigh holster and a tactical knife at her hip, she strapped ammunition and explosives to her harness and then she put her gloves with the reinforced knuckles on. The last step was the helmet, which she flipped in her hands before pushing it over her head. Once her eyes were in the gaps and the bottom of the mask was set on her cheekbones, she secured the straps beneath her chin and shifted her jaw to make sure she still had some room. She turned to look at herself in the mirror in this underground equipment room. Captain America stared back at her. She slipped the dark blue double-breasted peacoat over her shoulders and left it open to reveal the star on her chest. It wasn’t his, but it looked like it. It looked like it. She picked up the shield and slipped her arm in the internal straps.

 

“You look badass,” Sam said. She turned to look at Sam, who was wearing a dark grey carbon fiber uniform, straight from the Falcon program. She had goggles over her eyes, with a purplish tint.

 

“So do you, nice goggles,” Stephanie said.

 

“Nat gave them to me, apparently they’re Claire’s, they said it'd help my bird eyes when I do bird things,” Sam said. “Hawkeye. Falcon. Bird motif and all.”

 

“You know those jokes aren’t gonna stop if you keep hanging out with my superfriends,” Stephanie said.

 

“I’ll live,” Sam grinned, the gap in her front teeth showing.

 

“Good,” Stephanie said. “It’s time to go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hill led them on foot from the secret facility to where Virginia borders the Potomac, and then they took a helicopter with S.H.I.E.L.D. identifiers to the Triskelion. Nat was in place, just receiving the biometric identification for Councilwoman Hawley. The helicopter landed right above the comms tower, and they rushed down a story to the communications room full of technicians. They activated a scrambler to provide interference on the comm units in the area, and sure enough, one of the technicians opened the door to get help. Sam raised a gun when the door opened, and the lean technician paled. The door opened wider, revealing Stephanie and Hill, who was also holding a gun.

 

“Excuse us,” Stephanie said politely. The technician threw his hands it the air and awkwardly backed away. Hill and Sam got all of the technicians to surrender and line up against the wall, except for one. Stephanie ordered that one to activate broadcasting, so what she said over the Triskelion communication line would be broadcasted throughout the entire United States.

 

“You’re good to go,” The technician said.

 

“Thank you,” Stephanie said, a last trickle of anxiety passing through her chest before she pressed down the call button, and the broadcast began. “Attention.” She said. She heard her voice echo over the intercoms and out of everyone’s phone. “My name is Captain Stephanie Barnes. I’m speaking to you now because our freedoms are at risk. Years ago, the United States allowed Nazi scientists to receive clemency for changing their loyalty to this nation after the Second World War. These Nazis did not abandon their ideals as readily as they led all of us to believe. HYDRA, the fascist legacy of the Red Skull Johann Schmidt, continued to proliferate secretly within this country for decades. I know they’ve infected S.H.I.E.L.D. and STRIKE, I know Alexander Pierce is one of them, I know they’ve become senators in the Capitol, I know they’ve become generals in the Pentagon. Their mission, according to them, is to destabilize society, to sow conflict and reap chaos. Once the world is chaotic, and once we’re scared, they will offer the illusion of security, so we give them our freedoms to think, to act, to be. For seventy years, they’ve been succeeding. And today - today is the day that they might win once and for all. In two minutes, S.H.I.E.L.D. will launch Project Insight in Washington D.C., a trio of advanced Helicarriers that will allow biometric targeting via satellite of the enemies of HYDRA. They’ve taken advantage of public information, and they have a list of anyone they think will or could be an enemy of HYDRA. And today, they will kill us, a million at a time, unless you help me unless we stop them.” Stephanie sighed. “I know I’m asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.” She took her finger off the button and let out a shaky breath.

 

“Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?” Sam asked.

 

“I was mulling it over on the way here,” Stephanie admitted.

 

“Can we help?” One of the awkward technicians by the wall asked.

 

Hill started directing the technicians to send the satellite coordinates and scramble signals in hopes of delaying the effectiveness of the launch. “They’ve initiated launch,” She told Stephanie. Stephanie turned to Sam, and the pair dashed out of the communication room. They made it to the launch pad which was teeming with HYDRA agents trying to board the Insight helicarriers before the launch.

 

“Hey, Steph,” Sam asked as she and Stephanie sprinted toward the helicarriers. “How do we tell the good guys from the bad guys?”

 

“If they’re shooting at you, they’re bad,” Stephanie replied.

 

“Got it,” Sam said. She opened her wings and launched into the air as they reached the edge of the launch pad and into the open cavern where the helicarriers were prepping to go into the  sky. Stephanie jumped off the same launch pad, fell five stories, and landed on her shield with a roll. She sprinted past the quinjets toward the closest helicarrier, when HYDRA opened fire. She lifted her shield and went to take better cover, rolling over a pile of crates and landing just in time to slam her fist into a HYDRA agent. His cheekbone snapped under the force of her hit, and he dropped. She rolled behind the shield as HYDRA noticed her and opened fire. She slammed her back behind a crate and heard them approaching. Her hand slipped beneath the blue coat, and she pulled out a grenade, rolling it. The blast took care of the coming agents. She kept pushing toward the helicarriers. She heard one of the helicarriers turrets start going off.

 

“Hey, Steph,” Sam said over comms. “I found some of those bad guys you were talking about!”

 

“You okay?” She asked as she sprinted. She pulled out a pistol, vaulted over a pile of crates, twisted in the air, let off four shots, and dropped, continuing past the four bodies that were now  crumpled to the ground.

 

“I’m not dead yet,” Sam declared.

 

* * *

 

 

“Let me ask you a question,” Alexander Pierce said to the world security council, who was still reeling from the Captain’s message. He turned to councilman Singh. “What if Pakistan marched  into Mumbai tomorrow, and you knew that they were gonna drag your daughters into a soccer stadium and execute them,” He offered Singh a glass of champagne. “And you could just stop it with a flick of the switch. Wouldn't you?” He turned to the rest of the council. “Wouldn't you all?”

 

“Not if it was your switch,” Singh said, tossing the champagne flute. It shattered across the ground. Pierce smiled. He motioned to the HYDRA guard, and the guard gave him his gun. He trained it on Singh.

 

Nat sprung into action. They kicked Singh out of the way, grabbed Pierce’s wrist and crunched their fist into his nose. They tossed a bite at the other guard who seized on the floor from the small disk of electricity on his neck. Nat grabbed the gun in Pierce’s hand and threw it through the air, and it collided in the head of the agent behind them. Then they struck the guard next to Pierce, grabbed the back of his neck, and cracked his ribs with an angled knee strike, finally tossing him to the ground  The one they threw the gun at tried to sneak up from behind but Nat grabbed his wrist, slammed his head into the table. The one they electrocuted then attempted to advance, but they twisted his arm behind his back, took his gun and flipped him onto his neck. He groaned and rolled, motionless. Nat rose, gun trained on Pierce, and deactivated the holomask with voice modulation. 

 

“I’m sorry,” They said, voice warbling as the digital modulation faded. They pulled off the mask and the wig. “Did I step on your moment?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Satellites in range at three thousand feet,” One of the techs warned.

 

“Falcon, status?” Hill asked.

 

“Engaging!” Sam yelled as the turret fire exploded around her, she narrowly dodged, spun, and out flew the fire. She swooped past the range of the fire and landed on the helicarrier tarmac, taking out a pilot and pulling out her semi-automatic handguns with extended clips. “Alright, I’m in.” She mowed through a line of HYDRA before a Quinjet above her opened fire. “Shit!” She launched out of the way and flew under the wings of the lines of Quinjets. The Quinjet in the air destroyed the fleet while Sam zipped beneath it. An explosion cut too close, and she rolled across the tarmac, wings folded around her. She jumped off the edge of the Helicarrier and swooped down beneath the helicarrier, shooting the Quinjet. It still followed her, and she tried to outmaneuver it while also dodging the undercarriage turrets.

 

“Eight minutes, Cap,” Hill warned.

 

“Working on it!” Stephanie exclaimed.

 

The smoke of explosions and fire made it easier for Stephanie to push through the HYDRA units. A HYDRA agent came into view, and he was down with a bullet a quarter of a second later. Stephanie bashed another one with her shield, and he hit the ground so hard she heard his bones crack. A third came, and she kicked him square in the chest and shot him on his way down. Two came at her, one front and one back. She spun and slammed the side of her shield into the face of the one behind her, dragging her leg up, so her heel slammed into the jaw of the other. More came and more she dispatched: Jump and kick that one, bash her shield into that one, shoot that one, hit that one, and shoot those two. She finally made it to the helicarrier as the smoke cleared. The sixty-something bodies she dispatched lay in her wake, crumpled and motionless against the tarmac. The reinforcements went the other way.

 

* * *

 

 

“What are you doing?” Councilman Rockwell asked Nat as they worked on Pierce’s computer.

 

“Romanoff is disabling security protocols and dumping all the secrets onto the Internet,” Pierce said.

 

“Including HYDRA’s,” Nat said.

 

“And S.H.I.E.L.D.'s,” Pierce added. “If you do this, none of your past is gonna remain hidden.” Nat continued typing. “Are you sure you're ready for the world to see you as you really are?”

 

“Are you?” Nat asked, looking up at him with a smug expression. They liked the way fear flashed in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie only had to dispatch a few more HYDRA on Insight to get to the control center in the undercarriage of the Helicarrier. It was a glass semi-sphere suspended from the bottom of the helicarrier. Steel beams and biometric sensors lined the bottom of the control center. There were four catwalks which converged in the control room, where the operating system for the targeting lay. It was a supercomputer in a full cylinder with a command module that could be accessed from the catwalk for maintenance, or in Stephanie’s case, vandalism. She opened the computer system and looked at all the data chips, checking the index with a quick scan of her eyes and taking out the targeting blade, replacing it with hers. She secured the chip rack back into the computer, broke the other blade, and disabled the command module just in case.

 

“Alpha locked,” She reported.

 

“Falcon, where are you now?” Hill asked.

 

“I had to take a detour!” Sam exclaimed.

 

As Sam took another swoop beneath the undercarriage of Helicarrier Bravo, the Quinjet still on her tail released a blast of homing missiles. She arced around the back end of the helicarrier  and flew dangerously close to the helicarrier as the weapons followed her. She danced between the turrets, and some of the missiles smashed into them and disabled them. Then, Sam headed straight toward the glass dome beneath Bravo. At the last moment, she closed her wings, folded in on herself, and dropped like a rock as the remaining missiles broke a hole into the side of the command center. She opened her wings and spiraled back up through the air, through the smoking hole in the helicarrier, landing delicately on the catwalk. She too opened the command module, accessed the computer, replaced the targeting blade, disabled the module, and leaped off the catwalk, flying through the open hole and away from Helicarrier Bravo.

 

“Two down, one to go,” Hill reported over comms.

 

* * *

 

 

“Disabling the encryption is an executive order, it takes two Alpha Level members,” Pierce said. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Nat said. “Company is coming.”

 

They turned to see a helicopter land on the pad right outside Pierce’s office. Pierce drew toward the window, jaw gaping as he watched Nick Fury climb out of the helicopter, left arm in a  sling, and his classic black duster hanging off his shoulders. Pierce watched him walk into the office, hands on his hips, he nodded.

 

“Did you get my flowers?” Pierce asked. Fury sent him a glare that would make most drop dead then and there. “I’m glad you’re here, Nick.”

 

“Really?” Fury asked. “Because I thought you had me killed.”

 

“You know how the game works,” Pierce said dismissively. 

 

“So why make me the head of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

 

“Because you were the best and the most ruthless person I ever met.”

 

“I did what I did to protect people.”

 

“Our enemies are your enemies, Nick,” Pierce assured him. “Disorder, war. It's just a matter of time before a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow, or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy? Holding action, a band-aid. And you know where I learned that? Bogota. You didn't ask; you just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of seven billion people by sacrificing twenty million. It's the next step, Nick, if you have the courage to take it.”

 

“No,” Fury said. “I have the courage  _ not _ to.”

 

Fury dragged Pierce over to the retinal scanner while Nat typed and the council and their staff kept guns trained on the secretary. Nat stepped closer to Pierce, gun at his head.

 

“Retinal scanner active,” the computer chirped.

 

“You don't you think we wiped your clearance from the system?” Pierce asked smugly.

 

“I know you erased my password, probably deleted my retinal scan,” Fury said. “but if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary-” Fury slipped his eyepatch off his dead eye, revealing the cloudy white orb with a trio of deep gashes running across it. “-You need to keep both eyes open.”

 

Fury and Pierce both leaned toward the retinal scanner, and access was granted.

 

“Alpha Level confirmed. Encryption code accepted. Safeguards removed,” the computer reported.

 

* * *

 

 

“Charlie Carrier is forty-five degrees off the port bow,” Hill reported into the comms. She noticed on the security feed that two HYDRA agents were attempting to breach. She rolled her chair backward and shot each of them in the head. She stepped back toward the computer module. “Six minutes, Captain.”

 

As Stephanie sprinted across the tarmac as the HYDRA agents onboard realized where she was and scrambled an RPG to try to blow her up. “Hey, Sam, I’m gonna need a ride!” She said, jumping straight off the edge of the helicarrier as the RPG blasted behind her. 

 

“Roger that, let me know when you’re ready,” Sam said.

 

“I just did!” Stephanie screamed as she fell.

 

Sam swooped down. Stephanie turned onto her back, splayed her limbs, and raised one hand in the air. Sam caught it and pulled her up with a loud groan, landing on the tarmac of Helicarrier Charlie. They walked across the tarmac.

 

“You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look,” Sam said.

 

“I had a big breakfast,” Stephanie joked.

 

Suddenly, someone very fast jumped out from behind a crate. Stephanie slammed her shield up as a guard, but the force of his hit knocked her off the side of the helicarrier and onto one of the wings.

 

“Steph!” Sam exclaimed, trying to jump after her, but the Winter Soldier pulled her back by the wing and flinging her into the air. She pulled out her handguns, but he dodged her fire with a  flip, and he took cover.

 

“Don’t shoot him!” Stephanie exclaimed with a strained voice over the comms. Well, at least she was alive.

 

“And let him shoot me?” Sam exclaimed in frustration. She tried to get out of there, but the Winter Soldier shot a grappling line at her, and it latched onto one of her wings. He wrenched her to the ground and pulled her wing off. She got to her feet just in time for him to kick her off the helicarrier. She tumbled through the air, unstable. She released her second wing and pulled her chute, landing on the roof of the Triskelion. 

 

As Stephanie fell off the side, she managed to embed her shield into the helicarrier and was hanging by the straps. She swung her hips up, flipping into the air, and landing on an alcove by  the engines.

 

“Are you still on the helicarrier?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m fine,” Stephanie said. “Where are you?”

 

“Your husband grounded me,” Sam said. “The wings are down. Sorry, Steph.”

 

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Stephanie said. “Regroup with Hill or Nat, that’s an order.”

 

She glanced up and saw the Winter Soldier, Bucky, looking at her from the tarmac before disappearing.

 

“Rumlow’s headed for the Council,” Hill reported.

 

“On it,” Sam said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As always, your feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Just a fair warning, the next chapter is quite the doozy that I hope many of you have been looking forward to!


	11. Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter became rather long, which was why I broke it up and posted the previous chapter first. That being said, this officially marks the conclusion of the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but it is just the beginning of the next arc that Stephanie takes in this fic.

 

From where she landed on the engines, Stephanie maneuvered around the outside to the external maintenance port for the engines and slipped inside the helicarrier. She made her way through the helicarrier, heading down a narrow stairwell to the catwalk for the control center of Helicarrier Charlie. Standing in front of the command module, blocking her way, was Bucky. The Winter Soldier. There was nothing on his face this time, and HYDRA didn’t care if she knew him. Maybe, they hoped that it would make it that much harder. They would be right. She stopped, and she stared at him. The confusion in his eyes from the previous day was gone; his cold expression was back. He looked at her like she was nothing more than an enemy. Despite the uniform and the coat, she suddenly felt freezing.

 

“Do you remember me?” She asked. His expression didn’t change. “People are going to die,” She told him. “And I can’t let that happen.” His appearance didn’t change. “Bucky,” She said, not pretending to hide the desperation in her voice. “Please don’t make me do this, darlin’.” The only thing in his eyes was determination. “Bucky,” she said again like his name was a prayer. Nothing changed in his eyes - she had to stop him. She clenched her teeth and threw her shield. He blocked it with his arm, and she used that opportunity to pull her remaining loaded gun from her holster. It had only three bullets left. She caught the shield, and it slipped back onto her arm. He let off a shot, but she blocked it. He shot lower with his second pistol, and she crouched to block it.  He raised the metal arm with the hand drawn and she smashed her shield into his metal hand, lifting her arm and training her gun on his flesh one. She didn’t have time to apologize: she just pulled the trigger. Two bullets left. The bullet hit the handle in his hand, grazing his palm. He dropped it, and it tumbled off the catwalk. He roared and spun around again, pointing his gun at her. As she batted his left arm away a second time, he grabbed her shield and pulled her in. She slammed her elbow into his head, but he caught her wrist with his free hand and launched her gun away. She pushed backward, out of his grasp. He let go of the weapon in his left hand, caught it with his right, slammed his fist into her shield, and as she pushed back, he got a shot off. It grazed her side, and she gagged in pain. He leaped up, and she crashed her shield into his metal arm and the side of his head. He fell onto his back, skidding across the catwalk. He dropped the other gun. He climbed to his feet and pulled out a knife in reverse grip.

 

“I feel like this is just getting repetitive now,” she sighed, remembering their last two fights followed a near identical pattern.

 

He came at her, and she batted away the knife with her right hand. She pushed him away with the flat of the shield and stepped to the side, getting closer to the computer module. He swung the knife, but she deflected it, and it scratched across her shield. He slammed his fist into the shield and swiped again, but she batted his hand away with the edge of the shield. He swung a high kick toward her head, and she ducked under it. He kicked at her with his other leg, and she caught it with her shin, but she stumbled off balance, landing on one knee. He struck down at her, and she blocked him with the disk. She twisted across the ground and swept his leg out. He stumbled backward, and she rushed to the control module, opening the computer. 

 

She heard his feet behind her and turned around, batting away his metal arm as it headed toward her face. He swung it again, catching her shield and wrenching it hard, spinning her around. She continued with the spin, getting out of the way as his knife swiped at her abdomen. She sent a front kick into his chest, but he pushed her leg up further, and it landed on his left shoulder. The good news was that Stephanie was ridiculously flexible, and the full split against his shoulder wasn’t much of a discomfort. As he tried to push forward into her space, she pushed down against his shoulder with her leg and leaned backward. Her knee slammed into his jaw as she rolled back through the air and landed on both feet with a slight stumble.

 

He charged at her, swiping his right arm with the knife toward her. She caught his forearm with one hand and tried to bring her shield onto the blade to snap it, but he found the edge of her shield with his left hand. He pushed as hard as he could, and the knife in his hand trembled as it got closer to the star on her chest. Instead of pushing his arm away, she slid her hand along his forearm and caught his knife, tossing it away. As his guard was broken with the sudden shift, she kicked him again, this time landing square in his chest. He tumbled backward, slamming into the railing of the catwalk. She rushed to the control module, taking out the targeting blade of Charlie’s control module. She reached for the pack on her hip for the replacement when she heard footsteps pounding behind her.

 

As his fist slammed into her shield, the plates of his arm rippled with the force of the strike. She dug her heels into the catwalk and pushed forward, charging him backward. He slipped to the side, and she chased him. She swung the shield at his head, but he faded back. She brought it down over him, but he slipped to the side. She maintained her momentum, spinning and slamming it into a guard he formed on the side of his head with his arm. She brought the shield down on him again, but he pushed it away by the edge with his arm, and she twirled again, catching his strike to her abdomen with her forearm. His other hand slipped against her body and grabbed her by the lapels of the double-breasted peacoat, drawing her in closer. She slammed an elbow into the side of his head, and he let go, stumbling backward. He bounced against the railing and charged at her. He grabbed her around the waist, and they flipped over the railing together, her shield skidding one way and them flying the other. They landed together on the bottom platform of the supercomputer, which was about a story below the catwalk. It was a dome-shaped platform with three legs that hovered above the glass base of the control center. Stephanie held onto Bucky as they landed, and they rolled together down the side of the dome. She clenched his waist between her knees, pulled the knife from her hip, and slammed it into the side of the dome. It scraped and dug into the metal, stopping their descent before they fell onto the glass below. She didn’t doubt the drop would be painful, and the durability of the glass concerned her.

 

She was on her back, her heels crossed behind his. His head was pressed into her stomach, his shoulders digging into the crests of her hips. She used her free hand to grab him by the hair and gently pull his head back, so he looked at her. He was glaring. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” She said. That set him off. His left hand swiped and caught her in the side of the face she let go of his hair and his waist, and he fell, clenching onto her ankle with his right hand and squeezing. His left hand swung up and grabbed her knee. Then his right hand grabbed her belt. He pulled his torso across and up her legs. “I’m sorry,” She said, and she let go of the knife. They slid together down the rest of the dome, and she rolled off the edge of the curved leg. 

 

His arms wrapped around her thighs, and she dug her knees into his chest. She steadied them in the air, and he slammed into the ground, her knees slamming into him and knocking the wind out of him. He let go of her. She planted one foot by his head, and when he moved to sit up, she twisted around him and latched her leg around his throat, fitting his windpipe beneath the backside her knee. Then, she used her free leg to wrap around the foot of the leg around his neck and tucked that leg beneath his head. Her hold was locked. He tried to grab her, to pry her legs off, but every time he moved to get an angle, she would pull him with her hips and put more pressure on his throat.

 

“I’m sorry, Buck,” She told him gently. His chest was heaving; his lungs were spasming. She watched him kick his legs and flail his arms, hopelessly trying to shake her off before he lost  oxygen. “Just a minute, just another minute and you’ll pass out,” she tried to calm him. She had to keep both hands planted to balance herself while she restrained him with her legs, but she wanted to stroke his hair and whisper to him soothingly. “I promise you’ll be okay,” she said. She watched his flailing weaken. She felt his throat stuttering beneath her thigh. “I promise I’ll take care of you,” She said again. She watched his face. His strained expression, just like his tense body, was also starting to go slack. His eyes would begin to flutter closed before they would snap open with a jolt, him forcing himself to stay conscious while his body started to shut down. Flutter, snap. Flutter, snap. Suddenly he stopped flailing. He stopped kicking. He stopped trying to keep his eyes open. With relief, Stephanie could still feel his heart throbbing slowly in his throat. She released him. “I’m sorry, baby.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Done,” Nat said with pride as the files were dumped on the internet. “And it’s trending.”

 

Suddenly, the other members of the security council screamed as their name tags burned into their chests. Pierce had gotten his hand on his phone and activated some weapon in the name tags. Nat and Fury trained their guns on Pierce. 

 

“Unless you want a two-inch hole in your sternum, I'd put that gun down,” Pierce threatened. Nat kept her gun raised. “That was armed the moment you pinned it on.”

 

Nat and Fury reluctantly lowered their weapons.

 

* * *

 

 

“I'm on forty-one, headed towards the south-west stairwell,” Brock Rumlow said into his comms as he entered the room Sam was waiting in. As he went inside, he didn’t check his rear, and Sam came at him with a flying punch to the jaw. She wrenched his gun out of his hand, latched onto the back of his neck and lurched her hips forward, her knee going toward his head, but he got his bearings and pushed it down. He broke her latch on his neck, trapped her arms at his sides, headbutted her, and pushed her backward. She collapsed and skidded across the ground, climbing back to her feet while gripping her nose.

 

Rumlow undid his kevlar, “This is gonna hurt. There are no prisoners with HYDRA, just order. And order only comes through pain. You ready for yours?”

 

“Man,” Sam panted. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nat and Fury watched the screen glittering with launch targets helplessly as Pierce spoke to the commanders of Helicarrier Charlie. “Lieutenant, how much longer?”

 

“Sixty-five seconds to satellite link. Targeting grid engaged. Lowering weapons array now.”

 

* * *

 

 

“One minute,” Hill chirped over the comms. Stephanie was nearly at the control module. Two more strides. She pulled the chip out of her pouch when pain shot through her twice. Bucky was awake. The bad news was that he had a gun and shot her. One bullet ripped through the meat of the back of her thigh while the other one slipped just below her left floating rib and popped out of her right side. The good news, it must have been her gun because it clicked empty after those two shots. She fell, tripping through the pain. She looked over her shoulder. She watched him glare at the gun and then glared at her as if he blamed her for the empty cartridge. Then he threw it. She turned away. It hit her on the back and clattered to the ground. She pulled herself to her knees, one hand clutching her side, and crawled across the catwalk, balancing on the heel of her hand as the fingers were wrapped around the chip. She pushed off the control module and steadied to her feet. She pressed the disk into the control module and activated the computer. Exhausted and throbbing from her three gunshots, she collapsed in a heap at the base of the blade. “Charlie locked.” She rasped.

 

* * *

 

 

The sea of red dots vanished. There were only three targets left. Helicarriers Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie.

 

“Okay, Stephanie,” Maria said. “Get the hell out of there.”

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “I’m down. Fire now.”

 

“But,” Maria said. “Steph-”

 

“That’s an order,” Stephanie grunted, and so Maria followed it. The helicarriers started shooting each other. Stephanie saw the turrets through the glass, destroying the other two.

 

* * *

 

 

“What a waste,” Pierce declared as he watched Project Insight go down in literal flames.

 

“Are you still on the fence about Steph’s chances?” Nat asked.

 

“Come on, councilwoman,” Pierce said to her, still threatening her with the pin on her chest. Fury watched the helicarriers explode.

 

“You know, there was a time when I would’ve taken a bullet for you,” Fury said.

 

“You already did. You will again when it's useful,” Pierce replied.

 

Nat slipped a widow bite out of their pocket and activated it on themself. The electricity made them fall to the ground in pain, but it temporarily disabled the bomb in the pin. Fury pulled out a gun and shot Pierce twice in the chest. He fell through the glass monitor in his office and onto his back, the phone skidding out of his hand. Fury rushed to Nat.

 

“Romanoff!” He exclaimed. “Nat! Nat!”

 

They stirred, “Those really do sting.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie had pulled out her comm unit and managed barely to stand, leaning on the railing of the catwalk. Blocking her exit to the stairwell out of the helicarrier was Bucky, he glared at her, his gun, likely loaded, was trained on her.

 

“Please, Bucky,” She said from where she had slumped against the railing. “Please, remember me. Please, Bucky, you know me.”

 

“No, I don’t!” He shouted, but he didn’t shoot.

 

“You know me,” Stephanie insisted. “You’ve known me your whole life.” She tried to stand up, but the pain sent her slumping back on the railing again. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. And, and my name is Stephanie Grace Barnes.” 

 

“Shut up!” he yelled, gripping the gun tighter as if trying to stir himself into pulling the trigger.

 

She balanced on her right arm, her left hand clasped to her side. She was favoring her right leg as her left was spilling blood down her pant leg. She looked up at him. “I’m your wife.”

 

“You’re my  _ mission _ ,” he spat.

 

Just then, something struck just above the dome and shot through the helicarrier. One of the support beams above them started to creak and fall, right onto where Bucky was standing. Stephanie didn’t even think. She launched off of the railing and slammed into him. He flew out of the way, and she was knocked onto her back, just in time for the support beam to smash into her. It slammed into her legs. The panel of the catwalk she was lying on dropped from beneath her with the force of the collision. The board slammed into the glass bottom of the dome, and she slammed with it, screaming. As her head bounced hard against the catwalk, her helmet cracked, popped off, and rolled away. The pain in her legs flared up her entire body. She was dizzy and shaking: her vision was swimming and sparkling. She choked out a dry sob.

 

* * *

 

 

As two of the helicarriers crashed into the Potomac, one slid through the air toward the Triskelion. Inside, Sam was still fighting Brock Rumlow. She caught a strike with the outside of her arm, but he used his other hand to sock her in the face. He grabbed her shoulders and threw her over a desk. She landed and rolled hard while he jumped onto the bureau.

 

“You’re outta your depth, bitch,” he said.

 

That’s when she saw the side of the helicarrier right outside the window and getting closer. She got up, and she ran.

 

“Scared, huh?” Rumlow called after her. Then, the sound of the helicarrier crashing into the building sounded behind him. He turned to see it and ran as well, but getting crushed by a chunk of falling debris. 

 

Sam kept running, just ahead of the debris, smoke and dust started to fill the building. 

 

“Please, tell me you got that chopper in the air!” She yelled into comms.

 

“Sam, where are you?” Nat asked.

 

“Forty-first floor, north-west corner!” Sam exclaimed.

 

“We're on it, stay where you are.” They replied.

 

“Not an option!” She screamed, still sprinting. She smashed through the glass window and went into a free fall. The helicopter beneath her leaned to the side, and she fell through the gap of the open doors. Nat grabbed her and pulled her into the passenger seat. “Forty-first floor! Forty-first!”

 

“It’s not like they have numbers on the outside of the building!” said Fury defensively. The helicopter swooped under the falling helicarrier and toward safety.

 

“Hill, where’s Steph?” Nat asked. “Do you have a location on Barnes?”

 

“She disabled her comms,” Hill said.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie tried to strain and lift the debris off her legs, but she couldn’t. She was pinned, and the helicarrier was exploding around her. She stopped straining, relaxing against the catwalk. Stepping above her, into view, was Bucky. The Winter Soldier. He was looking at her.

 

“Still trying to kill me?” She asked weakly. “What’s the use? I’m as good as dead.” He stared at her. His face wasn’t cold. It was completely blank. That was an improvement. “Come here,” She begged. “Please.” While her left hand still clung to her right sight, she dug her right fingers around her neck and snapped the chain she always wore. “Please.” She said again, holding the chain out and dangling from it the rings. His wedding band and her small diamond ring. Their promises to each other all those years ago. He was still expressionless, but he stepped closer. Perhaps for no other reason than to investigate. “Take them,” She ordered. He hesitantly closed his flesh hand around the rings and looked at them blankly. “Bucky, when you remember, if you remember, I need you to know that-” She felt tears streaking her cheeks. She heaved out a breath, “I forgive you. Please, forgive yourself. I - I love you. I’ve always loved you. I still love you. And I - I’m with you,” She took a shaky gasp of air, “Until the end of the line.”

 

He looked up at her with horror. He stared at her like that for a few seconds, and then he vanished. She dropped her head down and looked up at the fire, metal, and glass raining above her. She closed her eyes and was ready to succumb to the exhaustion that ached deep in her bones. The explosions, clattering metal and shaking around her turned into nothing more than a roar of white noise. Everything became a daze. Her head was cloudy, thoughts swimming lost through it. She lost focus of everything.

 

Then, the pressure on her legs started to go away. Her eyes snapped open. Standing beside her was Bucky. Her shield was in his right hand, and both it and his metal arm were digging beneath the beam lying across her legs. Using the shield like a lever and his arm for support, he lifted it off of her and pushed it away. A falling piece of debris narrowly missed them and took out a chunk of the glass dome with a smash. He dropped her shield and walked over to her. His metal arm slipped under her legs, and his flesh arm slipped under her back.

 

He was saving her, she realized. 

 

He froze as she flung her arms around his shoulders and buried her head into his chest. Then he started moving again. He walked across the glass, and suddenly, Stephanie felt weightless.

 

They were falling, she realized.

 

They crashed into the water. His legs hit first, taking most of the impact, but she still cried out in pain when the water slammed into hers. They were burning and throbbing with pain. They were broken, probably. Very broken.

 

She stayed clutched to his chest, knees digging into his hips, and he rolled onto his side. His metal arm was locked around her waist. He pushed through the water, kicking with his legs and paddling with his right arm. There were only three things on her mind: Her breathing. His body. Her pain.

 

He pulled them to shore, rolling on the sandy bank of the Potomac. She buried her head deeper into the leather of his chest and held onto him as he rolled onto his back. His chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths beneath her. She could feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath her head. She felt his hands at her waist, gently pushing her away. But she didn’t want  to go away.

 

“No,” She choked, holding onto him tighter. He tried to push her away again, and she was a lot weaker than he was. She held on with her last strength. “Come back,” she said. She wasn’t sure if it was an order or a desperate plea.

 

“I will,” his voice said. It rumbled deep in his chest and finally let her relax. He rolled to his side as she slipped off his chest, so he could lie her down in the sand as gently as possible. Her eyes fluttered open, and his face was above hers as he kneeled above her. He wasn’t horrified, he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t confused: He was curious. That’s what that face was. It was curiosity and concern. He was worrying over her - that was Bucky. 

 

“Promise,” She whispered. That was most definitely a desperate plea on her part. 

 

His flesh hand touched the side of her face. His hand was clammy from the river water in midwinter, but she still leaned into his touch as she looked up at him. His wet, dark hair was plastered to his face; his steel-blue eyes were wide as saucers as they stared so deeply into hers. The ridged pad of his thumb traced across her cheek and skid along her bottom lip, outlining the curve with a delicate softness she knew couldn't have possibly come from the ruthlessly brainwashed assassin. She gasped before she realized, a little sound of satisfaction from his delicate touch. It was like she had never been touched, felt, or even known before in her entire life: And all it was, was his thumb on her bottom lip.

 

“I promise,” he said hoarsely, barely moving his lips.

 

She closed her eyes, content. His hand left her face, but her skin tingled where he had touched her. Her lip was on fire. She opened her eyes and looked around, but he was gone. She set her head back in the sand, closed her eyes, and let her exhaustion win.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie woke up feeling warm. She had a pillow beneath her head, a starchy hospital gown on, and blankets piled in her lap. Each of her legs was suspended and heavy, restrained by tight casts. Smooth funk music played over the speakers in the room, which meant Stephanie knew who was breathing in the chair on her right.

 

“On your left,” She muttered, turning to look at Sam. Sam had stitches on her cheek and a smile on her face, looking at Stephanie fondly. “How long was I out?”

 

“They found you unconscious on the banks of the Potomac, somebody carried you to shore,” Sam said. “That was yesterday. So, my guess, fifteen hours?”

 

“Not as bad as sixty-seven years,” Stephanie mused.

 

“No, I guess not,” Sam said. “You weren’t in a good state when they found you. Luckily, the bullet in your abdomen missed everything vitally important, but they still had to put some stitches  in your gut — stitches in your side, stitches in your leg. And then, of course, the casts. You broke your legs in eight places.”

 

“A helicarrier fell on me,” Stephanie said.

 

“How’d you get out?” Sam asked.

 

“I didn’t,” Stephanie said. “I thought I was done, and, then, he saved me.”

 

“Your husband,” Sam guessed.

 

“My husband,” Stephanie smiled.

 

“You’ll need to have your legs suspended with those pins in them for another two days, probably,” Sam said. “Then you’ll be in casts for two or three weeks. And physical therapy for a  month. That’s projected with your serum. The good news is that you heal fast and are immune to infection, so they’re pretty happy about your prognosis in general.”

 

“Nat?” Stephanie asked.

 

“An interagency task force is interviewing them, currently,” Sam said. “It was set up immediately after what happened. The only directive is to clean up this HYDRA mess.”

 

“This task force better not be trying to hold  _ them _ accountable for-”

 

“They’re not, I don’t think,” Sam said. “But there’s a lotta questions after everything. People are pretty mad at the government, and the people in power are trying to distribute and place culpability to help them best.”

 

“Sounds like politics,” Stephanie groaned. “Fury? Hill?”

 

“Fury’s dead,” Sam said with a wink. “And Hill’s fine. She’s been talking with Pepper about going to work for Stark Industries, last I heard.”

 

“Pepper?” Stephanie asked. “Are Pepper and Toni here?”

 

“They came in last night,” Sam said. “Toni and Pepper have seen you, but we’ve kept James away until you woke up.”

 

“Good call,” Stephanie said. “Is Toni mad?”

 

“More like concerned,” Sam said. “Pepper’s the one who’s a bit scary.”

 

“Pepper’s always a bit scary, you’re fine until she starts glowing,” Stephanie replied. “Pierce?”

 

“Fury killed him.”

 

“Rumlow?”

 

“Alive, critical condition, comatose.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Nobody’s seen or heard from the Winter Soldier, despite the fact he’s pretty wanted,” Sam said. “So I assume he’s on the run.” There was a pause. “Are you going to go after him?”

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “I don’t need to. He promised me he’d come back.”

 

“And you’re sure he’s gonna keep that promise?” Sam asked.

 

“I watched my husband fall to his death. I crashed a plane in the Arctic. Seventy years later, we’re both alive, for better or worse. He came back once. He’ll do it again,” Stephanie said confidently. “If I have anything, I have faith in people. And if I have faith in anyone, I have faith in my husband.”

 

“That’s so sweet,” Sam said. “Even with the fact that he’s an amnesiac cyborg assassin.”

 

“Maybe,” Stephanie said thoughtfully, a placid look on her face. Then her brow furrowed as she worried over something. “I have to explain everything to Toni and Pepper, don’t I?”

 

“Probably a good idea,” Sam nodded. “Want me to text them?”

 

“Sure,” Stephanie said.

 

* * *

 

 

Toni and Pepper arrived in D.C. five hours after they heard Stephanie announce to the whole country that the Nazis are Back. They watched in fear on the cabin television as she and Sam (Toni needed specs of those wings ASAP) disabled the three helicarriers, which bombed each other and crashed into the Potomac. They watched as it went from Captain America is Missing to Captain America is In Surgery to Captain America is Stable from the private plane as it flew across the country. Nat, Hill, and Sam were at the hospital when they arrived. Stephanie was a mess: she had broken legs, she had been shot twice, and she was injured from her grisly fight to the death that had somehow not ended in death.

 

“Who’s the asshole who nearly took down Cap?” Toni asked.

 

“He’s called the Winter Soldier. HYDRA assassin. Nearly fifty confirmed kills in the last seventy years,” Nat reported, sounding like a fan more than anything.

 

“Where is he?” Toni asked.

 

“He’s in the wind,” Nat said. “Not an immediate issue.”

 

“ _ Not an immediate _ -”

 

“Steph will explain more when she wakes up,” Hill said reasonably. “You should probably make sure James doesn’t see his mother like this until she’s ready.”

 

And so they waited overnight. Toni sat with Steph for a few hours before switching out with Pepper. Pepper swapped with Sam. They were arranging a hotel nearby when Sam texted them  that Stephanie was awake and wanted to see them. They could bring James. James had been way too good for everything that was going on. Toni could tell the kid knew something was wrong, and it seemed his way to cope with that was to try to make her and Pepper laugh. It was ridiculously adorable, and she could see Stephanie in him. A little ray of sunshine.

 

“Mommy!” James exclaimed as Toni carried him into his mother’s hospital room. “Mommy you’we  _ huht _ .” 

 

“Hey, look, it’s my best guy,” She said with a smile. “Yeah, I’m hurt. I was helping people, and I got hurt. But I’m going to be okay.”

 

“Did you hewp the pepuh?” James asked.

 

“I did,” Stephanie smiled. Toni pulled a chair beside Stephanie and set James in it so he could lean against the railing of his mother’s bed. Stephanie reached out and cradled her son’s face.

 

“Did you bweak your wegs?” James asked, looking at where her legs were suspended in slings.

 

“I did,” Stephanie nodded.

 

“Awe we gonna hafta cut ‘em off?” James asked, somberly.

 

Stephanie snorted and winced, “No, Bubba, they’re not that broken.”

 

“Because if you did,” James said. “Aunt Toni cud give you wegs and you cud fwy,” He said.

 

“She probably could,” Stephanie said, glancing at Toni fondly. “James, I have a very important job for you.”

 

“What, Mommy?”

 

“I need ice cream,” She said gravely. “Can you go with Aunt Sam and get me some ice cream?”

 

“Can I get ice cweam too?”

 

“You can get ice cream too,” Stephanie said. “You should probably get some ice cream for Toni and Pepper too, so they don’t feel left out.”

 

“Okay, we wiw,” James said. Sam stood up and walked with James out of the hospital room. Toni and Pepper sat in the vacated seats.

 

“Stephanie, you scared me,” Toni said.

 

“I’m sorry, Toni,” Stephanie said.

 

“What happened?” Pepper asked.

 

So Stephanie explained. Nick Fury showing up in her suite. Her brawl with the Winter Soldier. The flash drive he gave her. The switch she made in the bathroom. His death. Her meeting with Pierce. The fight in the elevator and her escape from S.H.I.E.L.D. Calling them, linking up with Nat, avoiding S.H.I.E.L.D. again, going to New Jersey. Meeting Zola and finding out about HYDRA. Surviving the bombing. Going to Sam’s. Meeting with Sitwell. Getting attacked by the Winter Soldier again. That’s when she stopped talking for the first time and coughed.

 

“Do you need some water?” Toni asked.

 

“Yes, thanks,” Stephanie said. “Dry throat is all.” She drank an entire glass and turned to Stephanie and Toni. “So, the soldier’s mask fell off, and he turned around. And… he was my husband. Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier.”

 

Pepper gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Toni stared at Stephanie blankly.

 

“Your husband died,” Toni said.

 

“He fell, and we all assumed he died,” Stephanie said. “But, when he was captured by HYDRA back in ‘43, Zola experimented on him. Must have given him some other version of the serum. Slow-acting so it didn’t need Vita-Rays to bond to the DNA. He must’ve survived the fall, and HYDRA or the Soviets or someone found him when they were looking for any equipment that survived the train crash. They gave him a metal arm, wiped his memories, and made him an assassin. He was probably in some stasis when he wasn’t being sent to murder people.”

 

“And he didn’t recognize you?”

 

“Eventually,” Stephanie said. She explained Hill’s rescue. The mission. The events on the helicarrier. She got to when he shot her, and Pepper was fighting a glow in the back of her eyes. She explained that she managed to switch the chips and ordered Hill to bomb the helicarriers because she didn’t think she’d make it out in time, and Pepper was starting to singe the seat’s upholstery.

 

“Pep, honey,” Toni said.

 

“Sorry,” Pepper whispered, cooling back down.

 

Stephanie then described how she broke her legs and that she was confident that was the end. She told the Winter Soldier that she forgave him and gave him their wedding rings in case he remembered. It turns out he remembered just in time or at least remembered enough to save her and leave her on the banks of the Potomac.

 

“Are you going after him?” Toni asked.

 

“In a wheelchair?” Stephanie chuckled. “No. And, even if I was mobile, no. He’ll come back to me. I know he will.” She sighed. “There’s one more thing I have to tell you, and it’s the worst one.”

 

“What could be worse?” Toni asked.

 

“Remember how Peggy said that she thought your parents’ death wasn’t an accident?” Stephanie asked. Toni felt something slimy twist in her stomach. “Your dad was close to figuring out about HYDRA, I think, so they needed to get rid of him,” Stephanie said. She avoided Toni’s gaze. “It was a Winter Soldier operation.”

 

Pepper grabbed Toni’s hand reassuringly, and Toni definitely didn’t like that news.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Toni said. Stephanie nodded and kept looking away. Did Toni hate the man who killed her parents? Absolutely. She hated him more than anything. She’d love to see him beg for life before his trickled away. But, with everything Stephanie had told her and everything she knew, she knew that man wasn’t Bucky Barnes. You can’t blame the weapon; you blame the person who made it. Afghanistan had taught her that. And that source of blame for Toni was HYDRA. “I’m okay.”

 

Pepper glanced at her with disbelief.

 

“Okay, no, I’m not  _ okay _ ,” Toni agreed. “I’m pissed. I’m really pissed. But, I’m not pissed at you, Steph. Or your husband. I’m pissed at HYDRA and everyone who ever heil’d.”

 

Stephanie looked back at Toni and let out a relieved sigh, “I wouldn’t blame you if you were mad at him.”

 

“I’m not,” Toni said. “But HYDRA, those guys are in for it.”

 

“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed. She looked up at the ceiling, “I’m never going on vacation again.”

 

Toni burst out laughing, “Well, Steph,” she chuckled. “On the bright side, you finally have a reason to use some of those sick days.”

 

Stephanie laughed too, and then she winced and held herself, “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. Laughing hurts.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did, when I first began writing, see this as the conclusion but I had little bits and bobs I wanted to add in an epilogue, and the epilogue itself turned into the whole rest of this fic, so I decided to roll with it and continue. This continuation or second part to this fic will involve a lot more original content than the first part, and will also include plotlines of other MCU properties, namely Agents of S.H.I.E.LD. Seasons 1 and 2. If you have no plans on ever watching the show, you don't need to in hopes of understanding the continuation of Stephanie's story in this fic. If you have plans, haven't got around to watching the show yet, and still hope not to be spoiled, then I highly recommend catching up and then coming back to this fic.
> 
> I immensely appreciate all your feedback, thoughtful responses, and continued readership, and as always, I would very much enjoy receiving a comment either here or on my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.


	12. Disenthrallment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your continued support and readership. Your responses to the last chapter were incredibly kind. I'm glad that so many of you liked Bucky's P.O.V. and a view into the Winter Soldier's mind when I did it several chapters prior because that's going to become more and more common as this story continues. Without further ado, the next chapter:

 

The Soldier’s instructions were simple: stop the Captain, and kill her. He was released on the Triskelion, taking out a fleet of enemies to HYDRA. After the Captain and the woman with wings modified two of the helicarriers, he knew they were going to the third. He took a jet and lay in wait. He dispatched the woman and her wings quickly enough, but the Captain survived falling off the flying ship. He made his way to her location before she could. He stood before her, looking at her blue coat and her blue eyes.

 

“Do you remember me?” She asked him. He had only seen her in his mission briefing: she was his mission. There was nothing more to remember. “People are going to die.” She said. Yes, enemies of HYDRA. They were supposed to die. “And I can’t let that happen.” And that was why she was the mission because she was The Enemy of HYDRA. “Bucky,” She said. That name made something ache in his head. It was a bad name. “Please don’t make me do this darlin’,” She said. Usually, when people begged, they begged for their wellbeing, not his. “Bucky,” she repeated the bad name.

 

Then they fought. And she was the best fighter he had ever faced. The shield she wore was an extension of herself, and she managed to have him lose his weapons with speed, precision, and accuracy. She continued to try to vandalize the control module, and so he continued to try to stop her, and so she continued to survive him. It was infuriating. He pushed her off the catwalk, and she held on, he tried to break free from her grasp to attack her, but she fell with him. She got the upper hand; she wrapped her legs around his neck.

 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” she told him, saying the bad name. He thrashed, but she was stronger. “Just a minute, just another minute and you’ll pass out.” She told him. She threatened him. He knew that. His lungs burned for air. “I promise you’ll be okay.” She said. “I promise I’ll take care of you.” The words had to be threats, but why were they spoken kindly? He lost consciousness. 

 

When he awoke, she was back on the catwalk, nearly at her goal. He grabbed the nearest gun, hers, and shot her with it, and she fell to the ground as the bullets struck her leg and back. Her arm clicked after two shots. Did she intentionally leave him such an unsatisfying weapon? He watched as she pushed through her pain and stopped the third helicarrier. She was determined, he could give her that.

 

When he made his way to the catwalk to kill her, his (very loaded) gun trained on her, the aching in his head was worse. He watched her bleeding and stumbling, looking broken.

 

_ Take the shot; his _ protocol screamed.

 

He just stared at her.

 

“Please, Bucky,” She said the bad name. The ache in his head was worse. “Please, remember me. Please, Bucky, you know me.” She was making him feel pain with her  _ words _ . It enraged him.

 

“No, I don’t!” He shouted, but he didn’t shoot. Why didn’t he shoot? He was supposed to shoot.

 

“You know me,” she insisted. “You’ve known me your whole life.” She tried to stand up, but the pain sent her slumping back on the railing again. He watched her face as it screwed up with pain. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” She said. That was worse. That name was  _ worse _ . His head was throbbing. “And, and my name is Stephanie Grace Barnes.” That was the worst name. That was the name that made the room tilt and his head grow cloudy.

 

“Shut up!” he yelled, he wanted to shoot her. He needed to kill her. But he  _ wasn’t _ shooting her.

 

“I’m your wife.”

 

Wife?

 

No.

 

He didn’t know her.

 

_ Wife? _

 

The Captain was his mission.

 

“You’re my  _ mission _ ,” he spat.

 

Her eyes widened. There was a noise above him. She ran toward him, moving far faster than he would have thought possible with her injuries. She slammed into him and fell. He looked up to see the ceiling fall on her.

 

She saved _ him _ ?

 

She  _ saved _ him?

 

 _She_ saved him?

 

She saved him.

 

He looked at her. She struggled against the beam on her legs. She was clearly in pain. Broken legs, most likely. He watched her give up. There was a pathetic finality to the way she accepted  her fate. He could go. If she was trapped under that beam, she would surely die when this helicarrier crashed from its destruction. His mission was all but complete. But, part of him felt like it wasn’t. He needed to confirm she was dead. Protocol.

 

He went down and walked over to her. He peered at her.

 

She noticed him. She looked tired

 

“Still trying to kill me?” She asked. “What’s the use? I’m as good as dead.” 

 

He knew that. But there was protocol.

 

She had given up. The soldier had adequately followed protocol.

He should go.

 

He didn’t.

 

“Come here,” She begged.

 

Why did she want him to come closer? She had given up; it wouldn’t be to try to fight. He was confused - she was confusing. And the headache was still pounding away.

 

“Please,” She said.

 

She reached a hand beneath her uniform and pulled out something metallic. It was a chain, hanging from the chain were two rings.

 

_ Wife _ his brain reminded him.

 

“Please.” She said again, holding the chain out.

 

She wanted him to take the rings.

 

There was no reason for him to take them.

 

He didn’t know why he stepped forward, but he did.

 

“Take them,” She ordered.

 

There was no reason for him to take them.

 

He was not the kind of person to grant last wishes.

 

But something about her voice, it spurred something in him.

 

His head was throbbing.

 

He followed her order.

 

He took the rings from her.

 

He looked at them: a plain gold band and a small gold ring with a diamond.

 

His head throbbed more.

 

“Bucky.” She said.

 

 He looked up at her.

 

He had figured out that when she said the bad name, she was referring to him.

 

Was he Bucky?

 

No, he was the Soldier.

 

Could he be Bucky?

 

“When you remember,” She said. “If you remember, I need you to know that I forgive you.”

 

She forgave him? Why was that important?

 

And why did it hurt?

 

“Please, forgive yourself.”

 

Why did it hurt?

 

“I love you.” She stuttered.

 

Her words spurred more foreign feelings. Satisfaction, but stronger. Pain, but deeper.

 

“I’ve always loved you.”

 

There was an echo of something dancing through his head, a feeling that he once had, but so distant he only felt a whisper of it. A whisper was enough to make everything ache.

 

“I still love you.”

 

He knew the meaning of the words, in the abstract, but the way she said it, with so much emotion, he realized the meaning of the phrase didn’t adequately display what she was feeling. She was feeling so much, he realized, and most of it was pain.

 

She was in pain.

 

That was bad.

 

_ She was an enemy of HYDRA. _

 

Still bad.

 

_ She was his mission _ .

 

Still bad.

 

“And I’m with you until the end of the line.”

 

Those words felt like a bullet to the brain. They struck him, ripped through him, gutted him. The words dug into his head and his chest and his essence with a vice, digging into him sharply and pulling him open. Things - undefined, incredible, and inexplicable - were spilling out like gory offal, but they were so much messier, and so much harder to rationalize. Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he remembered another mission.

 

His  _ first _ mission.

 

His  _ most important _ mission.

 

His  _ only _ mission.

 

A small girl with golden hair, blue eyes, and pink lips was being pushed in the mud.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

A little punk with golden hair, blue eyes, and pink lips was hacking her lungs out.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

A sick wife with golden hair, blue eyes, and pink lips was in a puddle of her blood.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

A tall captain with golden hair, blue eyes, and pink lips was in a war zone alongside him.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

An enemy of HYDRA with golden hair, blue eyes, and pink lips trapped under a beam.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

He needed to get that beam off her, he decided. So, he tucked the rings in a pouch his belt. He then stumbled through the debris and picked up her shield.

 

_ Protect her. _

 

He stumbled back over. With his arm and her shield, he managed to lift the beam off and away from her. 

 

_ Protect her. _

 

He went over to her and inspected her: her right ankle was at a wrong angle. She would not be able to walk, he decided, so he lifted her into his arms.

 

_ Protect her. _

 

She held onto him. Her arms were familiar as they wrapped around his shoulders. She buried her head into his chest.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

He jumped out of the glass dome of the helicarrier and into the river two hundred feet below. Their bodies shifted together, wordlessly in the water so that he could swim them to safety.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

He pulled her onto the shore, and she held onto him. He could hear her breathing and her heart beating. She was alive.

 

_ Protect her _ .

 

He needed to go, he couldn’t stay, but she protested as she tried to push him off. “No,” She begged, holding onto him. When she held onto him, her body pressed against his, it wasn’t like when they fought. It wasn’t violent. It was familiar. It was comfortable, and it was comforting. It was intimate. He understood why she didn’t want to let go; he didn’t want to let go. But he needed to protect her, and she wouldn’t be safe if he were with her. “Come back,” she said. She would let him leave if he came back. If it got her to let go, he would tell her he would.

 

“I will,” he said.

 

He gently moved her into the sand, rolling with her to not further exacerbate the pain of her injuries. He set her down. 

He had so many questions: Why did he care so much? And When was he given this mission? And Why did she care for him? 

 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, fondly and warmly. He forgot how to breathe for a moment when she looked at him like that. He knew the pain and the protocol. He knew death. The one thing he did not know was this. But he once did, he realized. This sat in the back of his mind as the ancient and distant traces of another life, long ago.

 

“Promise.” She whispered with her lips. Pink lips -He remembered her pink lips, and her blue eyes, and her golden hair. They were etched into his mind, branded into his memory. And then burned over, scarred over, but still there, deep in him, struggling to come to light once again. He reached for her face, his hand moving before he realized. Her skin was soft under his hand.  He ran his thumb along the arch of her soft cheek. Those blue eyes looked into his soul as he did it. His thumb approached those pink lips. They were chapped with the water and the cold, but still soft under his rough hand. As he touched them, she inhaled sharply. His first thought was that he hurt her somehow, but something instinctual told him that was not a bad sound, that was a good sound. What had she asked him to do? Promise. He would promise. He would see her again. He knew he would need to see her again like a starving man needed food or a thirsty one needed water. He needed whatever feeling she was giving him, and he would come back for it.

 

“I promise.” He said.

 

She was satisfied with his promise: she closed her eyes, and she let him go.

 

He left.

 

* * *

 

 

In the chaos, it was easy to make his way back to Headquarters. He knew how to be invisible. The further he got from the Captain (Stephanie?) the worse his headache became again. It was like there was something in his head trying to crawl out, but it was also covered in barbed wire. He entered the abandoned bank. The only people inside were HYDRA agents.

 

“Soldier,” One said, recognizing him. “Mission successful?” He asked, hopefully.

 

The Soldier (Bucky?) looked at him. “What?”

 

“Is she dead?” the guard asked.

 

Then, the Soldier (Bucky?) had a realization.

 

The Captain (Stephanie) was good ( _ Protect Her _ ). But she was an enemy of HYDRA. And if she was good, that meant HYDRA was bad (he was bad). And this guard was bad. He slammed his  metal fist into the man’s face before he realized what he was doing. He pushed further into the vault. Protocol said to come here, mission report, await instruction. That’s why he was here. But HYDRA made the protocol, and HYDRA was bad. Voices were echoing through the halls.

 

“I don’t know what you’re getting all panicky about,” A man was saying. “You know as well as I do that if you cut off one head, two more will-”

 

A second man interrupted him. “All I know is everything’s gone to hell. I’m done with all of this. I’m going to pack this gear up and get the hell out of this country before any of the authorities digging into this mess find out what we’ve been doing here. The last thing I want is to be the subject of the next Nuremberg-”

 

He entered the vault, and they stopped talking.

 

He entered the vault, and that’s when he saw the chair.

 

Cold.

 

Pain.

 

Death.

 

Pain.

 

Repeat.

 

“Mission report,” One asked. He stared at them blankly. “Mission report.”

 

“Captain America is dead,” He lied. The look of relief on their expressions cemented in his mind that they deserved to die.

 

“Soldier-” one of the technicians came over. The Soldier rounded on the man and flung him against the wall. He slumped to the ground, eyes wide with fear.

 

“YOU DID THIS!” He exclaimed.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, a second technician came running at him with a syringe, he disarmed him quickly, breaking his wrist, and stabbing the needle in the man’s eye. He screamed and reeled backward. The soldier kicked him away.

 

“YOU MADE ME!”

 

And he remembered more and more: He remembered falling off a train. He remembered being dragged through the snow. He remembered his arm rotten and black and then gleaming and silver. He remembered the man with the round face and the glasses. He remembered pain and hunger and pain again until he gave up. He remembered the ice. He remembered a gun in his hand and his first mission. And then he remembered more missions. Always with ice. Always with pain in between the two. The images flashed in his head, striking him like an assailant. He let out a cry like a wounded animal and gripped his head.

 

“Soldier,” The man on the floor, climbed to his feet, “Let me help you-”

 

He ran at him, he knocked him to the ground, and he beat his face in, once, twice, thrice. The man stopped breathing. The soldier turned to the chair. He grabbed it, and he ripped. He punched the leather seats until they fell apart under his hands. He threw the pieces of scrap across the room. He broke the monitors of the machine. He pounded it all to nothing in his hands, trying to push his pain somewhere else. To force it out with the crunch of the metal. To see the source of his pain destroyed before his very eyes - that was liberating. Finished, tired, panting, he looked  at the remnants of the chair. It was nothing more than an indistinguishable pile of metal and wiring. Satisfied, the soldier looked around. There was a third technician, cowering in the corner. The soldier approached him.

 

“Please!” The man sobbed. “Please! No! I have a daughter!”

 

The soldier stopped. A hundred pleas for mercy and life rattled through his head at once. A hundred terrified pairs of eyes that he extinguished the life from.

 

They made him their weapon. They stripped him, beat him, destroyed him, and remade him into what they needed. They wanted him to kill.

 

He was done with killing.

 

He turned around, and he left. 

 

The third technician let him leave.

 

No more blood on his hands.

 

He was free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hoped you liked a little view into Bucky's perspective of things in the final fight between him and Stephanie. It's a long road before he'll get a semblance of normalcy again, but he's finally taking back some of his agency!
> 
> As always, your feedback is immensely appreciated! Kudos, bookmarks, and comments especially are welcome and adored whenever you feel comfortable offering them. And of course, you can always talk to me about this series or anything that flights your fancy on my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.


	13. Objective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that so many of you liked Bucky's P.O.V. in the chapter prior because it's continuing in this chapter, and the perspective will alternate between the couple for the rest of this fic. Thanks for your continued support. I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

 

There were supplies available in the facilities of the vault headquarters: various items the soldier didn’t have time to inventory. He took everything but the weapons. He left the guns. He put what he needed in a black canvas bag and got as far away from the vault as he could. He disappeared into the city once again. The industrial smell of paint brought him to a residential building under renovations, abandoned for the night. He knew how to disarm the alarm on the window and slip inside an empty, white room unnoticed. He checked and secured the exits before deciding it was a suitable place to lie low for the night. The first thing he did was change out of his still-damp uniform. He undid the straps spanning across his chest and peeled the leather away from his body. Promptly, It fell in a heap at his feet. Then he unlaced his boots and kicked them away. Water spilled out of them as they fell to the side. He undid the buckle of his belt and peeled the black material away from his skin. Bare, he assessed his injuries. There were bruises along his abdomen from the fight, more on his back. His skin was only broken at the palm of his hand. That was where the Captain’s bullet had shot his gun out of his hand. Thinking back, she could have aimed for his head. His throat. His subclavian artery. She struck him in the palm. It wasn’t a deep gash, a few layers at most. But it stung and it needed to be closed. For now, he bandaged it with gauze and tape. He put on the available clothes: dark pants, black cotton shirt, grey buttoned shirt, dark jacket. His boots would be functional once they dried. He put the damp uniform back in the canvas bag.

 

He assessed his supplies:

  * Tactical Uniform
  * 20,000 USD Cash in various non-sequential bills
  * Driver’s License (Virginia) with his face: Nicholas Stover
  * Passport (United States) with his face: Nicholas Stover
  * Gauze
  * Duct tape
  * Analog Watch
  * Burner phones (3)
  * Bottled water (6)
  * MREs (6)



 

Then he made a mental list of what he would need:

  * Stitches
  * More Food
  * More Water
  * Information
    * Who She Was
    * Who He Was
    * What He Should Do



 

He drank one bottle of water and ate one of the foil packages. There was no flavor, but it sated the ache in his stomach. Now it was dark, he was secure, and he knew that he should get some rest. It wasn’t protocol; it was something more profound: Instinct. He settled against a wall, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

 

Blood.

 

Death.

 

Pain.

 

His eyes snapped open sometime later, and he threw up. The mess was brown chunks and fluid. Once he was finished, he rinsed the taste out with half a bottle of water. He checked the watch and determined he had slept for three hours. He slowly remembered his dream: A mission, long ago, a family. He had been resistant to hurting the children. They beat him for a day. Three hours of sleep would have to do.

 

He couldn’t get the supplies he needed until morning. With his stomach empty, he knew he needed to eat. He finished off the half-bottle of water and tore open another foil package, his second MRE. This time, nausea hit him sooner, and it came up again. In the back of his mind, something told him that it was hard to keep solid food down after not eating for an extended period. He would need to find something less stressful for his stomach to digest. In the meantime, he paced around the perimeter of his secure location. The memories came in flashes, unconstructed, unplaceable sensations. A smell. An image. A sound. They strung in and out of his mind, not giving him any more information about anything extraordinary, but leaving an unpleasant feeling and a bad taste in his mouth.

 

At 0726, the sun rose, and he decided it was time to exit this location. The supplies he needed he could not purchase until, consistently, 0900. So he wandered, checking that he was not being followed, evaluating the places that he would be the most unnoticed. The air was thick with tension, as smoke still spiraled into the air from where the helicarriers crashed the other day. At 0921 he entered his chosen retail location, a pharmacy on P Street and 17th Street.

 

His purchase included:

  * Unwaxed dental floss
  * Assorted needles
  * Isopropyl Alcohol (70%)
  * Elastic Bandages
  * Adhesive Bandage Strips (Assorted)
  * Medical tape
  * Pureed Food (Gerber, Assorted Flavors)
  * Sports Drinks (12)
  * Bottled Water (24)
  * Manicure kit
    * Nail clipper
    * Cuticle nipper
    * Cuticle pusher
    * Tweezers
    * Nail file
    * Nail scissors
  * Black Ballpoint Pens (20)
  * College Ruled Spiral Notebooks (3)
  * Toilet Paper Rolls (12)
  * Black Drawstring Trash Bags
  * Backpack
  * Baseball Cap
  * Gloves



 

As he made the purchase, he paid in cash and avoided looking directly into the camera at the register. The receipt was long. He used an alleyway with limited visibility from the street to distribute his supplies between his first and second bag. He put his bulk supplies and food in the canvas duffle, and his medical supplies, manicure kit, pens and notebooks in the backpack. With his two bags, he continued to find somewhere secure. He knew he would need safe shelter, but he also needed to be mobile. The apparent intermediate was a vehicle.

 

He wandered through a residential area for a few hours before he found a car parked in front of an apartment complex with a FOR SALE sign, a number, and a price (2500 USD). With nobody of consequence around, he inspected the car and determined it was an old model, but it had no apparent issues besides the crack in the windshield, the peeling seats, and the general age of the car. He called the number and arranged a purchase as soon as possible, in an hour. He promised to double the owner’s requested price if he made sure that the exchange was entirely off the books.

 

The seller was a young woman who needed the money, he could tell by the glassy look in her eyes and the gauntness of her face that she was sick in some way. He took the keys, loaded his supplies into the backseat, and left. He drove around the city, making sure he wasn’t followed. Making sure she hadn’t called someone. Satisfied he was still a ghost, he parked in a lot and got to work on his hand. He drank a bottle of water until it was empty and added the alcohol to it. He cut strips of floss, tied them to the eyes of the needles, and dropped them into the alcohol. Based on his estimation, he wouldn’t need more than five to close his wound. Once they were prepped, he fished the first needle and floss out and used his left hand to push the first needle through the center of the gash. He winced. After the needle was through, he pulled until each end was of an equal length and fumbled a knot. The second stitch was placed in the middle of the first stitch and the bottom edge of the cut. The next stitch was between the first stitch and the top of the wound. The final two stitches were between the first and second and the first and third. Satisfied his skin was closed, he pressed a pad of gauze and secured it in place with bandages and tape.

 

Now that was done, it was time to try to eat again. The pureed food te soldier found was in two different forms: Small plastic cups and small plastic pouches. He opted for a pouch, unscrewing the cap and placing a dab of the food on his tongue. It was slimy in the back of his throat when he swallowed it down. He waited five minutes, and with no nausea, he greedily sucked down the rest of the pouch. He waited for half an hour, and his stomach was still. He drank a sports drink and sucked down two more bags of the puree until his stomach was no longer aching. He stepped outside the car and relieved himself on the rocks in the median in the parking lot. Satisfied, finally, that his needs were met (except sleep, but he wasn’t ready for sleep yet) he opened the pouch of ballpoint pens and pulled out a notebook. The first page, he wrote down all his supplies in a neat inventory.

 

The second page, he wrote down a mission report:

 

> _Mission Objective: Kill the Captain (Stephanie Grace Barnes)_
> 
> _ The Captain was an effective assailant in physical combat. She also utilized what was perceived at the time as psychological warfare to cause physical and emotional pain to the soldier, claiming she was his wife, and she knew him personally, and referring to him as Bucky (James Buchanan Barnes). As Helicarrier Charlie was destroyed, she saved  _ _ me _ _ him and sustained life-threatening injuries and immobility that would result in mission success. However, she changed mission parameters. _
> 
> _ Mission Objective: Protect her (Captain Stephanie Grace Barnes) _
> 
> _ With new mission objective obtained, the soldier managed to evacuate the Captain from Helicarrier Charlie and secure her. The Captain requested that the soldier return to her, and although he promised, it was not an order and not mission objective. _
> 
> _ Following protocol, the soldier returned to Headquarters, however, there was a conflict. While protocol designated that the soldier must report to HYDRA, the Captain was an enemy of HYDRA. Therefore, cooperation with HYDRA opposes mission parameters despite protocol. Mission Objective: Protect her supersedes all protocol, existing orders, or other mission objectives and changes all mission parameters to align with objective. _
> 
> _ Currently, the best way to protect the Captain is to have intel on who she is, why she is an enemy of HYDRA, and her connection to the Soldier. Current prevailing theory: The Captain was the Soldier’s first handler, however, she refers to this title as Wife. Current understanding of the title of Wife is how it pertains to marriage and romantic/sexual relationships. Rings given to the Soldier by the Captain also support this understanding. However, information also supports, if the Captain is the Soldier’s handler, such words and symbols could be code? _
> 
> _ Presently, the best course of action is to acquire more information on the Captain, requiring access to records, possibly online. _

 

* * *

 

Stealing a computer was rudimentary. There were many coffee shops in the city where people had open bags. The soldier purchased a beverage at one such coffee establishment. On his way to the bathroom, he slipped a thin laptop out of an opened backpack. The owner was distracted on their phone. The security system on the personal laptop was more advanced than he was expecting (StarkTech - Stark - that stirred an ache in the back of his mind), but after prying off the end of the laptop cover with the nail file, he made some crucial discoveries. This laptop would not need charge due to a self-sufficient reactor similar to schematics for Helicarriers Alpha, Beta, and Charlie. He was unable to get in through the software, but using the recovery system programmed into StarkTech, he could do a complete factory reset and reset the laptop with his credentials. He used the name and information on the false identification in the set-up stage and deactivated all the cloud-sharing and data-recovery through the on-tech AI system, Helen.

 

He used the Stark Industries internet browser and search engine, typing in the Captain’s name.

 

_ Stephanie Grace Barnes _

 

A summary box with multiple images of the Captain, in business attire, formal attire, and her uniform appeared at the top of the page.

 

The heading:

 

_ Captain Stephanie Barnes _

 

The subheading:

 

_ Former U.S. Soldier, Captain America _

 

_ Current Director of Philanthropy at Stark Industries _

 

Then, the body:

 

_ Stephanie Barnes, born July 4, 1918, is a biochemically enhanced super-soldier who served for the WAC and US Army from 1943-1945 under the codename Captain America. Upon crashing into a glacier on a mission to defeat Johann Schmidt (Red Skull), she survived in a cryostasis for 66 years and eight months. Upon her return, Barnes assisted SHIELD through the Avengers Initiative during the attack on New York. Later, she was employed at Stark Industries as the Director of Philanthropy, where she currently works _ .

 

He scrolled down

 

_ Profiles _ the next section read, linking to a social media site. He clicked  _ Open in New Tab. _

 

_ People Also Search For _ the next section read, linking to people named  _ Toni Stark _ ,  _ Pepper Potts _ ,  _ Bertie Banner,  _ and  _ Bucky Barnes _ . Bucky Barnes - that was the name that she used for him . He clicked  _ Open in New Tab _ .

 

He continued to scroll, the final section before the search engine results was

 

_ Top Stories _ .

 

Three boxes linked to news articles.

 

_ Captain Stephanie Barnes Will Testify At Senate Hearing _ reported The Hill 2 hours ago.

 

_ The Aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, and Captain America _ reported the New York Times 5 hours ago.

 

_ Captain America Admits to Smithsonian Robbery _ r eported CNN 7 hours ago.

 

He clicked on and read through each of the three articles, summarizing relevant information in his notebook:

 

> _ The Captain - Captain Stephanie Barnes - is an enemy of HYDRA for initially leading Howling Commando group against HYDRA from 1943-1945, and killing the head of HYDRA in 1945. She  _ _ maintains her status against HYDRA as she has continued to oppose HYDRA attempts. Information also indicates that the Soldier, formerly known as Bucky Barnes, was a member of the Howling Commandos before captured by HYDRA and reassimilated toward HYDRA mission goals and not those of Captain Barnes. Therefore, Captain Barnes using code words, names, and symbols was likely an attempt to undo HYDRA protocols and reinstate previous mission objectives. _
> 
> _ Intelligence also indicates that Captain Barnes is indeed  the wife of Bucky Barnes, although the Soldier has no recollection of the significance of this title beyond relation to mission objective. Information suggests a possible romantic/sexual relationship previously existed between the Captain and the Soldier based on context provided referencing a past marriage in addition to her position as his handler. _
> 
> _ Currently, mission objective: protect her does not have any clear opposition. Intel data establishes that the Captain is protected by several other enhanced individuals and is recovering from injuries  _ _ (my fault) _ _ sustained in the attempt to reprogram the Winter Soldier and remind him of the primary mission objective. HYDRA is being dismantled through law enforcement initiatives and the Captain will continue to insure the failure of the agency. _
> 
> _ The soldier, while aware of his reprogramming, still lacks the information surrounding his previous mission objectives and operations surrounding Captain Barnes. Rectifying this is essential. More online research is a necessity for logistic analysis, however, museum exhibit information and artifacts also indicate possible triggers that could reinstate further protocols established by the Captain when she was the soldier’s handler such as already seen with Mission Objective: Protect Her. _
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

The Smithsonian exhibit was easy enough to get in, even with the increased security. Informing the security guards of his metal arm and only bringing the notebook and a pen allowed him to be let into the museum after being checked with a handheld metal detector. Once inside, the soldier made his way to the exhibit. The entrance had words on the glass door, an address from the current president to Captain Barnes when she returned. The soldier pushed inside. “A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice,” the recorded narrator said. He looked around at the images. This woman was the Captain before she was enhanced. There were pictures of the Captain and the Soldier (Stephanie and Bucky), her in a white dress, the caption described the marriage of the Barnes couple. He looked at the changing panels of her before and after becoming enhanced. How she grew. “Due to her chronic poor health, Stephanie Barnes became a candidate for an experimental medical procedure. One that would transform her into the world’s first superhero,” the audio said. Something cold curled in his stomach, he remembered being scared and angry that she changed. The images lead him through her time being a public image to raise money for the war effort, working with the WAAC as First Officer America and campaigning it to become the WAC, becoming Captain America.

 

There was an image of them again, in Italy _. While on tour in Azzano, Italy, Cpt. Barnes’ heroically saved 163 members of the 107th infantry and 421 men in total - including her husband, Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes,  _ the caption read. HYDRA, the first time had captured the Soldier, and the Captain, Stephanie, his handler, his wife, went to save him. Just like she saved him on the helicarrier. Then, they worked together to fight HYDRA during the war; she was his superior; he was her second in command. Her right hand. He watched footage of her ripping through HYDRA battalions with more speed and power than he had seen whenever he had fought her. He stepped around the crowds and families, heading toward a large glass panel that had his face on it. That was his face.

 

> _ When Bucky Barnes first met Stephanie Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know he was forging a bond that would blossom into one of the most revered love stories in modern history, one that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond. _
> 
> _ Born March 1917, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation, and torture, but his will was strong. Upon hearing of his fate, his wife, Captain Stephanie Barnes, led a one-woman liberation effort and saved him and the rest of the 107th from Hydra. _
> 
> _ Reunited, Captain and Sergeant Barnes led Captain America’s newly founded integrated unit, The Howling Commandos. Bucky Barnes’ marksmanship was was invaluable as the team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater. _
> 
> _ Bucky Barnes: 1917-1945 _
> 
>  

The information provided on the exhibit confirmed the soldier’s suspicious. He met the Captain when they were young, and she established herself as his handler. Their relationship became romantic or sexual before she became enhanced. Her devotion to him led her to become an enemy of HYDRA.

 

He remembered a dark lab, filled with the stench of blood and urine. He remembered the round face with round glasses. Needles cutting into his flesh, his veins burned. He remembered lying restrained on a cold metal slab, the Captain retrieving him. He remembered a train, exploding. He remembered her hand, outstretched. He remembered falling. He remembered the pain and the cold. Again and again.

 

A moving image caught his eye. He looked down the monitor which played highlights from the newsreels starring the pair of them. This was good. Seeing them work together could perhaps remind him of some of the protocols she had with him. He watched the entire loop of videos three times in a row. He watched her directing their team. His body pressed to hers as he watched her finger glide across the map. He watched them talking to the camera person and laughing together, strangely relaxed. He watched her carry him when he was injured, despite being injured herself, pressing her lips against his head. He observed a tense moment, the Captain in the sights of a sniper she didn’t see, suddenly, the sniper dropped. The camera shifted to see the Soldier on a ridge, protecting the Captain. He watched the Captain approach him sitting on the ground, gripping his shoulder. She was angry at him, gesticulating and yelling. He expected to see her hand crack against his face, but she dropped to her knees and pulled him to her chest, holding him. He watched them side by side, marching, a legion of surrendered HYDRA behind them.

 

The videos didn’t reveal specific procedures as he hoped, but it did let him know some things. The Captain was a good handler. She cared for his well being, and punishment seemed to be verbal only. He was comfortable with her. He remembered when he lifted her, and she held onto him. The feeling of her wrapped around him. He was intimate with her, which further confirmed his theory that their relationship was romantic and sexual to some degree.

 

When he left the Smithsonian, he felt satisfied that the intelligence hesitantly confirmed this theory that he could collect. She was his handler who cared for him, and he cared for her. After HYDRA took him, she decided it was an offense, and she opposed them, both for him and for the war. There was a mission that went wrong. They got him back. They erased her, his memories of her, and replaced his protocols and mission objectives with those of HYDRA. They used him for years, alternating between pain and cold when he was not useful. And when she continued to oppose HYDRA, they sent him to kill her. But she recognized him, and she managed to use triggers she planted in him to activate pre-existing mission objectives in the hope of reinstating her protocols and parameters as his handler. 

 

Unfortunately, there were no triggers at the museum. He looked at the objects, and there was familiarity, but nothing that the Captain would have programmed into him. And why would she give the triggers that could reinstate her husband’s protocols to a museum? The only triggers so far were the words that she used: their real names and the phrase “I’m with you until the end of the line,” and the rings that she gave him. He would be incapable of successfully achieving mission objective: protect her if he didn’t understand the exact protocols and procedures of her operations.

 

He went back to his online research. He watched as much footage of her as he could. He watched her fight HYDRA in the newsreels. He watched her leading the Avengers against invading aliens. He watched her give speeches about where she was giving money with her position at Stark Industries. He read articles about her, fragments of her various biographies, and her social media account.

 

The information he acquired presented him, unfortunately, with another issue in the success of the mission objective. It seemed that after the Captain thought he had died, she was at less risk. Discounting the alien event, which nobody was expecting, she had retreated from active operations to work a quieter, more secure job. It was his presence while following HYDRA mission objectives that her life was at risk, and it was her trying to reset his protocols that put her life even more at risk. He could have failed his mission objective: protect her if she had not managed to activate his triggers, and it would have been he who killed her. It seemed, the best way for him to achieve the mission objective was to stay away from her, as her life was in danger whenever he was in it. After all, she committed to her opposition of HYDRA because of him. This would not have been a delicate operation if it wasn’t for her orders.

 

She told him - or requested - that he come back. And he promised he would. But now, he realized, to achieve the mission objective, he should not return to her. It caused a conflict. He would be going against her suggested protocols, all he had if he didn’t respond. But it was also the most precise way he could achieve the mission objective was by avoiding her. The more he pondered this issue, the more of a problem it became. If he did not return within a sufficient deadline that she set for him, if he went against her requested procedure to achieve the mission objective, then she would undoubtedly start searching for him. After all, observation proved that she cared about him. He was her husband as well as her operative. And if she went after him, she would have HYDRA as her only lead, and that would lead her into more danger.

 

He would have to discourage her. If she no longer cared for him intimately, she would no longer seek him out. He would be able to avoid her and protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed following Bucky to the Smithsonian and spending more time in his mind as he tries to make sense of everything. As many of you mentioned, he has a long way to go, and it's a process I'm deviously enjoying.
> 
> Also, shameless self-promotion: I'm writing for _Good Omens_ now if you want to check out the other works on my profile.
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback! Subscriptions will allow you to stay notified every time I update. I also adore whenever I see more kudos and bookmarks. And, of course, I love comments both here on AO3 and through my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.


	14. Dossier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your continued support. It feels strange that I'm both already and only half of the way through this fic. Just an obligatory trigger warning that some of the things HYDRA did in the Winter Soldier program are discussed this chapter. Its not explicit or graphic, but it is there.

 

Stephanie was tranquilized while they did the operation to change her casts and remove the pins in her legs. She was awake, but the pain was dull, and her head was fuzzy. When the procedure was finished, she had two heavy casts that covered each of her legs from the knee below. She was mobile with a wheelchair, back on solid food, and allowed to finally use the bathroom herself instead of the catheter. A day after the operation, Stephanie had more visitors.

 

Pepper was supervising her while also getting a lot of work done, hands flying across the keyboard of her laptop while she managed Toni’s company. Toni had taken James to the Smithsonian to show him the natural history museum. There was a gentle rap of knuckles on the door of the hospital room. Pepper and Stephanie snapped up to see Nat and Sharon in the doorway. Stephanie immediately brightened and beckoned them over. She interrogated Sharon first, who she hadn’t seen since Sharon had helped her escape the Triskelion.

 

“I told them you bumped into me in the bathroom and I didn’t think anything of it until later when I realized my ID was missing,” Sharon said. “They held me for six hours in interrogation, but after it didn’t seem like I was being contacted by you, and since they needed me for security detail for Insight, they let me go.” She grinned, “Joke’s on them, I managed the evacuation of the Triskelion.”

 

“Thank you,” Stephanie said emphatically.

 

“It’s my job,” Sharon shrugged. “Aunt Peggy was asking about you. I didn’t tell her about Sergeant Barnes, she should hear that from you.”

 

“Yes,” Stephanie agreed. “So, what are you doing now?”

 

Sharon glanced at Nat, “HYDRA interagency task force. I defected to the CIA near immediately, and they asked if I wanted in after I passed the Polygraph - not that it's hard to pass a polygraph. Colonel Rhodes requested my presence personally. I’m just glad to join the Nazi-punching legacy.”

 

“Rhodey’s running the taskforce?” Pepper asked. “He hasn’t told us yet.”

 

“He was assigned the op all of eight hours ago, give the man some time to breathe,” Nat said.

 

“What about you, Nat?” Stephanie asked.

 

“You told me to be the kind of person I wanted to be,” Nat said. “I guess this is a step, right? No more names and identities. Just doing what’s right.”

 

“Who else is on the task force?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Unofficially,” Nat said. “Claire’s agreed once her ankle heals. And in the most speculative, hypothetical terms, the list of possible candidates includes any of the remaining Avengers, Hill, Sam, and a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who made a stand at the Hub. After your announcement, HYDRA had to turn on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they weren’t prepared. It was a mess, but a lot of good and loyal operatives got out, and we’re looking for them.”

 

“As well as the pieces of shit,” Sharon said. “I ran into Rumlow downstairs. Or rather, walked past his bed in the ICU. He looks like shit. I also gave some advice to his security detail, FBI agents need all the help they can get.”

 

“Good,” Stephanie said.

 

“Get better,” Sharon said.

 

“Doing my best,” Stephanie smiled. “Thank you so much for everything. You saved my life. Tell me when, and we’ll go out for those drinks I owe you.”

 

Sharon smiled, “See ya, Stephanie.”

 

Nat and Pepper watched her go. Nat glanced at Pepper, and they seemed to exchange some private information.

 

“I’m gonna take a walk,” Pepper said, setting her laptop down on the chair and heading out.

 

“Nat,” Stephanie said. “What’s up?”

 

“I have a present for you, but it isn’t a fun one,” Nat said. “I called in a few favors from Kyiv, and sent a simple keyword algorithm through the data dump and then scanned what it pulled up myself.” She sighed and pulled out a thick folder. “Translated and organized it all by hand for you, it was mostly decoded, but some weird sections were alternating through Russian and German.” They set the folder on Stephanie’s lap. Stephanie tugged it open and saw an image of her husband frozen in a glass tube. Her chest burned, but she was also grateful.

 

“Thank you, Nat,” Stephanie said. “It means a lot to me.”

 

“I’m in there,” Nat said.

 

“Sorry?” Stephanie asked.

 

“HYDRA didn’t just link up in the states. They had a mutual alliance of sorts with the KGB in the late eighties. Decided to loan their best assassin so the Red Room could train theirs in the nineties,” Nat said.

 

“You didn’t tell me-”

 

“I didn’t know,” Nat said. “I was twelve when we met. For four months, he was my partner on seven ops. It’s in there if you want to read-”

 

“I want to hear it from you,” Stephanie said. “If you’re alright with that.”

 

Nat nodded and took a seat. “In the Red Room… first, you were acquired. Children under two. Some stolen out of strollers. Some orphans. I know my parents sold me, they needed the money trying to escape the USSR. I don’t know if they ever got out. There were twenty-eight of us in the beginning. Same clothes, same hair, same expression. They made us nothing, then we learned to become anything. We learned to fight. I was six when the matches started. They’d select two at random, pair them up, and one would survive. I survived every time. Graduated, they called it when I was twelve. That’s when they started sending me on supervised ops. They wanted me to be better.”

 

“So they called in the Winter Soldier.”

 

“His job was to supervise me, train me. I tagged along at first, watched him work. Then I got to work as well. He - I knew he was different. He was cold at first, but then he was nice to me. He took care of me, he watched over me. He cared about me. He was like-”

 

“Your father?”

 

“He was the closest thing I had until Fury. Is that dumb?”

 

“Bucky always took care of people who he thought needed it,” Stephanie said. “Probably why he got so attached to me when I was the scrawniest thing in Brooklyn.”

 

“We were a dream team. Red Room was happy with our professional compatibility. I think he stuck with the missions despite his nightmares because he was looking out for me. He was getting more rebellious, but he didn’t want to lash out and put me at risk. Then, our seventh mission, he disobeyed a direct order to get me to safety. My fault. He protected me. I heard him scream all night. Next morning, he was frozen again, and I was shipped off to spend six weeks in the tundra, freezing my fingers off.” Nat said.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

 

“Well, when we didn’t know, I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle what needed to be done,” Nat admitted. “And when we did know, it seemed pretty weak in comparison to the fact that he’s the husband and the father of your child. So I didn’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Just because you can drown in the ocean doesn’t mean a lake won’t kill you,” Stephanie said. “You don’t have to compare trauma.”

 

“Sounds like something you learned at the VA.”

 

“Therapy helps, what else can I say?” Stephanie shrugged. She smiled, “I think I have to adopt you now.”

 

Nat spluttered, “What?”

 

“If my husband adopted an angry Russian teenage assassin, I have to support him,” Stephanie said. “That’s what marriage means.”

 

“I’m _older_ than you,” Nat said. Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “The ice doesn’t count. And anyway, we’re both adults. You can’t adopt an adult.”

 

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Stephanie said.

 

“You’re not adopting me,” Nat protested.

 

“You’re adopted,” Stephanie said. She was beaming. Nat cracked a smile too. “Now, go on, beat up HYDRA.”

 

“Fine, _Mom,_ ” Nat groaned dramatically before heading out.

 

* * *

 

 

Once Stephanie was discharged, Toni wanted to move her to Stark Tower as soon as possible, but Stephanie wasn’t done in D.C. She had broadcasted to the world the consequences of HYDRA, and they deserved an explanation. The Senate hearings requested her presence, and she said she would face the committee and their questions.

 

Bernie Rosenthal came from New York. A defense lawyer, and Stephanie’s personal friend. She helped prepare Stephanie for the kind of questions she would be asked and would accompany Stephanie to the hearing in case she needed legal advice. She was allowed to bring a lawyer, per the nature of testifying under oath to the United States government. Stephanie had no issue telling the truth. There was little that she had to hide, all she had done was fight for her life and try to stop HYDRA. If they had an issue with that, even with the fact, Stephanie was a private citizen, that was their choice. She doubted they would have a problem with it.

 

The main reason she called Bernie, however, was not because of her concerns about herself. Her fears were about Bucky. After reading through the dossier, which took one very long, very rough day, she knew that he wasn’t just going to have to deal with the repercussions of his own trauma, but also the legal ramifications of everything that happened. Bernie Rosenthal was the kind of defense lawyer that defended good people who had terrible things happen to them, but she made her money fixing cases before they even went to court.

 

“The court of public opinion is more important than anything that happens with a judge or a jury in the internet age,” Bernie said. “You can win the trial before you even see a grand jury if you get enough people on your side. This is going to be messy and public and painful,” She told Stephanie.

 

“I don’t care,” Stephanie said. “He’s worth it.”

 

“Good,” Bernie said.

 

“And you’ll help? I can pay-”

 

“No,” Bernie said. “We’re friends. Besides, I could have any case I wanted at any price I wanted if I get the Winter Soldier off. Proving the assassin of the century is the world’s longest P.O.W.? That’s why I got a law degree.”

 

“What’s the plan?” Stephanie asked.

 

“We need to put the Winter Soldier story out before anyone else can,” Bernie said. “In public.”

 

“The hearing?”

 

“That’s what I was thinking, we’ll need to work it into your testimony.”

 

“Won’t be hard.”

 

“You’ll need to be reasonable before you do. If you’re a mess before you get a chance to tell his story, then you’re going to lose your credibility.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

“We should run some questions.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie was wheeled into the chamber of the senate committee. The U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence was waiting for her. Nineteen senators were waiting for her, both the official and ex officio members of the committee. She was in the center of the table across from the hearing. Sitting off to the side was Bernie, Pepper, and Toni. James was on Toni’s lap.

 

The head of the committee, Senator Prevost, leaned toward the microphone, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your presence here today. This morning, we continue our ongoing investigation into the shocking events that occurred one week ago here in D.C. A terrorist attack, allegedly perpetrated by the neo-fascist organization HYDRA, which, according to testimony, has been infiltrating the United States intelligence community since 1945, has brought these uncomfortable realities of the state of our intelligence community to light. Joining us here today is Captain Stephanie Barnes, who despite being a civilian at the time, lead a private investigation against HYDRA and helped direct counterterror measures, saving the estimated lives of millions. Today, we will be questioning Captain Barnes about her involvement in the intelligence community and her recent work to disable HYDRA terrorist cells within our own government. I would like to remind Captain Barnes of senate rule 25.6, which will allow a closed session to maintain privacy under questioning. Senator Blum, do you have anything you would like to add?”

 

“No, thank you, Mr. Chairman.”

 

“Very well, thank you, Senator Blum. Captain Barnes could, you, rise- er, swear in for me, please?” the Senator fumbled. An intern came forward with a bible. “Now, do you swear that the testimony before this committee is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?”

 

“I swear,” Stephanie replied.

 

“Thank you, Captain. And just so you know, at any time, you are allowed to request a recess.”

 

“I appreciate that Chairman Prevost, thank you,” Stephanie said politely. “And thank you, Ranking Member Blum. My name is Captain Stephanie Barnes, I am a retired military officer and current Director of Philanthropy for Stark Industries. Many of you probably know me from my work in the second World War as Captain America. To summarize to reduce redundancy, I was employed with Stark Industries and worked personally for Howard Stark. Stark was commissioned by Project Rebirth to help develop a procedure to administer a serum invented by Dr. Abraham Erskine. Erskine’s serum was developed under Johann Schmidt, who gave his allegiance to the German Nazis, Erskine was a Jewish man and would face religious persecution for not cooperating.” Stephanie smiled, “All of this is well-known to the mythology of Captain America, however, as I was sworn to tell the truth, I admit the next part is not what you will hear in a history book. I was never a valid candidate for the serum. I worked with the SSR, yes, as a secretary and lab assistant. During our second attempt at administering Erskine’s formula to an American Soldier, Gilmore Hodge, in hopes of enhancing him, the experiment was invaded by HYDRA. The HYDRA operative attempted to kill Erskine and take the serum, in the process of this attack, I was fatally injured. The reason I am sitting here today is that Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, and Abraham Erskine illicitly performed the enhancement procedure on me without my consent in hopes of saving my life. The result made me as I am today, an enhanced superhuman.” The room was deathly silent, but Stephanie could feel the shock rippling around her, and see it on the faces of the senators. “I was given the option to become a lab monkey or to become a USO showgirl and the front of propaganda for the US Army and the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps. I chose the latter. That decision led me to Europe, and as you all know, after rescuing prisoners of war in Azzano, Italy, I was the first female Captain to lead an active squadron. Our targets were not just HYDRA, but due to our relationship with the SSR, we were unofficially the most necessary operatives in opposing the Nazi science organization.

“During a raid of the main HYDRA facility in February of 1945, I crashed Johann Schmidt’s plane into the arctic in hopes of not detonating the HYDRA weapons of mass destruction on board. This resulted in me being frozen for sixty-six years and eight months. It was the agency S.H.I.E.L.D. which found me in the arctic and managed my return to society in the twenty-first century. However, because I discovered I was pregnant, I declined their offer to work for the agency and instead retired to private life. Seven months after S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled me out of the arctic, they requested my consultation on a missing piece of technology used by HYDRA back during the war. As you all know, that event resulted in the battle of New York. After that, I began working for Stark Industries in charity administration, with no interest in joining the intelligence community and instead of living a semi-normal life,

“On January ninth, while I was taking a short vacation to Washington D.C. to sightsee and visit some friends, my suite at the Ritz-Carlton was broken into by the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director at the time, Nick Fury. Fury and I reached an understanding about my retirement, so I knew that if he came for my help, he was incredibly concerned and my involvement was a last resort. He informed me that S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised, that I could trust nobody, and he gave me a drive containing highly classified intel in hopes I could do something with it, he did not elaborate. That was when we were attacked by a HYDRA assassin. I know now that he operates under the codename 'the Winter Soldier.' The Winter Soldier injured Fury and fought me before escaping, Fury was declared dead at the hospital.

“Secretary Pierce of the World Security Council questioned me, but I was not forthwith with him because of Fury’s concerns. As a result, I was attacked by multiple S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and barely managed to escape S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Thankfully, I was assisted by a friend and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Sharon Carter. Once in the wind, I was found by another friend and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Nat Romanoff. Romanoff and I cooperatively attempted to discover the intel on the drive, but we could not hack it before the tracker activated. As a result, we instead determined the location of the intel and went to Wheaton, New Jersey.

“In New Jersey, we discovered an old S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, where beneath it, was the computerized mind of HYDRA scientist and the second in command for Schmidt, Arnim Zola. Zola informed Nat and me of HYDRA’s presence in S.H.I.E.L.D., stating that through Operation Paperclip, Nazi scientists entered the United States and used those resources to develop HYDRA cells within major intelligence communities, and especially S.H.I.E.L.D. Zola described that HYDRA had been using their presence in the intelligence community to manipulate world events toward war and chaos, in hopes that they would destabilize governments and utilize fear, resulting in the promotion of authoritarian and fascist initiatives like that of Project Insight. Zola gave us this information in an attempt to stall us as he contacted HYDRA and Secretary Pierce sent domestic missiles at the base. We managed to hide in the basement of the facility and survive the bombing, returning to stop Project Insight.

“While attempting to come up with a plan and arrange a group of individuals to help, including former pararescue Sam Wilson, we interrogated S.H.I.E.L.D. officer Jasper Sitwell who we determined was connected to Project Insight. Sitwell gave us the information we needed. As we attempted to find a safe location to regroup and launch a plan of attack, we were attacked once again by the Winter Soldier. He injured Agent Romanoff and stalled us long enough that we were taken by HYDRA operatives. Luckily, Fury’s assistant director, Maria Hill, had infiltrated these operatives and managed to take us to safety. It was then that I decided we were going to disable Project Insight and reveal the truth of HYDRA with the decryption of S.H.I.E.L.D. files and my public announcement. And, as you know, our plan was successful.”

“That is what happened to the best of my knowledge, and if you have any further questions, I would be pleased to answer them for you,” Stephanie said.

 

“Thank you, Captain Barnes,” Senator Prevost said. “Would you like a moment?”

 

“I’m fine, sir.”

 

“Very well, then we move onto the questioning portion of this hearing,” Prevost said. “Captain, why do you think Director Fury turned to you specifically?”

 

“Probably because I was Captain America,” Stephanie said, the word "obviously" was not said, but implied. The senator shifted awkwardly in his seat. There were some titters of laughter. “Additionally, because he was being chased by an assassin and on foot, and he must have known I was in the area and needed assistance from someone nearby. And, and this is conjecture on my part, he knew that I was not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D. and so I would have no issue taking measures to prevent S.H.I.E.L.D. operations in case it was compromised, as he believed.”

 

“You are not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., yet your friends are S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?”

 

“I can have friends without being loyal to their place of work, Senator,” Stephanie said.

 

“Very well,” he said. “And why did you feel responsible for following Fury’s instructions?”

 

“I wasn’t, at first,” Stephanie said. “I realized something was wrong when I was interviewed by Secretary Pierce. Consider it instinct or experience, I didn’t like the man, and I didn’t trust him. I might have given the intel to a different law enforcement agency if I had not been attacked by S.H.I.E.L.D. and forced to flee for my life. I realized that understanding what was going on was vital to my own protection and the safety of those around me, and once I realized the gravity of the situation, I committed myself to stopping HYDRA.”

 

“The destruction of the helicarriers resulted in billions of dollars of damage, did you anticipate that?”

 

“There was no way we could disable Project Insight completely in a less destructive way with the resources and the time that we had. We had to make desperate decisions, ones that resulted in expensive losses of life, and while I regret that terribly, I still stand by my decision as it was the best I could have made at that moment.”

 

“Why did you decide to air S.H.I.E.L.D.’s dirty laundry and effectively dismantle the agency?” Senator Prevost asked.

 

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. had been infiltrated by HYDRA from the beginning. The two were grafted together so intimately, there was no way to quickly reveal and help take the step for dismantling HYDRA operations without doing it to S.H.I.E.L.D. as well. I understand, possibly, if we had better time and resources, we could have done it less destructively. But with what we had, and how long we had, we had to make effective decisions, even if they had dire consequences. I still stand by that decision as well.”

 

“You stand by the decision to lay waste to our intelligence apparatus? All intelligence in the United States has been crippled by your decision. Our national security is in shambles.”

 

“Yes,” Stephanie agreed. “I still stand by my decision, Senator. First of all, the intelligence HYDRA was using it was using for HYDRA’s benefit, not ours. The fact that so much was revealed, operations, conspiracies, more than we can keep up with, shows that HYDRA was not providing intelligence, it was providing lies. Not just at S.H.I.E.L.D. I believe, Senator Prevost, that you were made chairman only a few days ago after Senator Stern was arrested for his connections to HYDRA. Your national security was already crippled, we just showed you how badly.”

 

“So, according to you, your decision to release seventy years of classified information was good, in the long run?” Senator Prevost asked.

 

“Not good,” Stephanie said. “Necessary. Was it a horrible, painful slap in the face? Absolutely. But it’s enlightened America - the people of America - to something that will be good in the long run.”

 

“Do enlighten us, then, Captain.”

 

“HYDRA started small,” Stephanie said. “A few German scientists working for the government. They established connections, however. They made friends, stole resources, changed information. They scratched the backs of politicians so they would look the other way, and sent assassins toward those who were righteous enough to refuse them. They spread through the United States government like rot, and once you clear away the rot, you’re left with an unstable infrastructure. S.H.I.E.L.D. was too far gone, rotten at the very base, to clear away the rot would be to remove the very foundations. But what revealing this rot has shown us, besides our vulnerabilities, is how to prevent this from coming again. HYDRA, Schmidt, Nazis, Hitler - why did they get as far as they managed to? Why did they cause as many deaths as they did? Why did they make so many allies? Why did they get so much power? 

 

“The fact of the matter is, they took advantage of us. HYDRA took advantage of our vices and our vulnerabilities. As a nation and as individuals. They gave to the greedy, they scared the cowardly, they promised power to the prideful. HYDRA got as far as they did because Senators like yourselves cared more about the next campaign then they did where the money came from and what it entailed. HYDRA built a world of chaos because they exploited us, and we let them. All we can do now is look at our mistakes, read them, learn from them, and use them to prevent such a thing from happening again. 

 

“The reason you are afraid, all of you is because you don’t want to lose your power in this vulnerable age. You’re worried that you will be blamed by your constituents because some of you supported Insight before there were HYDRA agents knowingly involved. You worry that they will wonder if you agreed with a fascist operation, that they will question your ethics and dedication to democracy if you championed such a program, and if they ask those questions they do so rightfully. They are starting to pay attention to how you got that power, so I encourage you, be mindful. If you point fingers and assign blame and tried to clean it up without a mess, you’re going to make people mad, because it’s not neat. It’s not pretty. It never will be. And from here, the only way that we can go on forward is if we become better, we resist these attempts at being controlled now that we have seventy years of documentation of how they succeeded. Ultimately, we have to resist our fear and our greed and our pride and devote ourselves to better ways of doing things, because if we are not a nation of morals, then we are nothing more than a pile of trash, and HYDRA will take advantage of that.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Senator Blum said after Prevost smacked his lips in shock for about a minute. “Do you mind if I ask a question, Chairman?”

 

“Go ahead,” He said.

 

“Captain, you mentioned an assassin, the Winter Soldier,” Blum said. “He is one of the largest HYDRA operatives in the reports from the events surrounding the HYDRA terror attack. However, he is the only one currently unaccounted for. Your report surrounding him was vague, is there any possible way you could expand on what you know about the Winter Soldier?”

 

Stephanie looked at her hands. Here it was. The real reason she had come here - not that giving a disappointed glare to politicians while talking about how they inadvertently supported neo-fascism wasn’t fun.

 

“I swore to you,” She said. “Moments ago, that I would tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So, to keep my oath, I have to admit a truth that isn’t particularly pleasant. It’s a truth that begins in 1943 in Azzano, Italy-”

 

“Excuse me, how is this relevant?” Prevost asked, finally getting over the shock of Captain America telling him he was trash.

 

“If you let me continue my story without interruptions, senator, I can assure you that my exposition will be relevant,” Stephanie said coolly. He nodded at her to continue, embarrassment obvious. “1943, Azzano, Italy,” She said. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th was captured along with most of his unit, nearly 200 men. They were marched to a HYDRA facility and held captive as prisoners of war for labor. Upon hearing that some men went missing for HYDRA experiments performed by Arnim Zola, Sergeant Barnes volunteered himself to starvation, deprivation, torture, isolation, and human experimentation to protect the rest of his unit. He suffered. When I found him weeks later, liberating the base, he was traumatized. It wasn’t until later I noticed he was different physically and mentally. You see, as I know now, Zola administered a slow-acting version of Erskine’s super-soldier serum to Sergeant Barnes, which slowly mutated his DNA over many months, months he fought alongside me. One day, he fell off a train, and I was so sure he died. He didn’t. HYDRA found him, and Zola decided it was time to continue his experiment.

“He was tortured. He was beaten. He was raped. He was drugged. He was brainwashed in a variety of different ways. First, it was through torture until he was docile. Hypnosis would put him in fugue states that would make him temporarily obey commands. Of course, it was continuing to fry his brain with electricity that kept him stable. See, once they burned his mind, his damaged tissue repressed his memories. That ensured he wouldn’t remember who he was and why he didn’t like HYDRA. But thanks to the serum in his veins, his brain would regrow, his memories would come back, so they would zap him all over again. Once HYDRA had him under their high-maintenance control, they put him in an icebox and only took him out when it was time for him to kill someone, as the operative Winter Soldier.

“You asked me if I know him, and I do. Because the Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes, and James Buchanan Barnes is my husband. When he tried to kill me, he started to remember me, and the only reason I am sitting today in front of you is that he pulled me out of that flaming helicarrier when I couldn’t walk. I tell you this today, both for the sake of information, although most of that was declassified if you bothered to look, but also because I am sometimes a selfish person. And I want the world to know what happened to my husband because I think his suffering is a story that ought to be heard. I have no idea where he is, but I hope he’s safe, I hope he’s free from HYDRA, and I hope that you can listen to his story, both the people on this committee and the people of this country and forgive him like I have. Because he is the longest-serving prisoner of war in this nation’s history, and he’s an innocent man.”

 

“Captain Barnes,” Prevost said. “Do you have anything to substantiate these claims?”

 

“As I said before, most of this information was in the declassified data dump,” Stephanie said. “However, I have compiled a dossier, copies of which I have sent to your committee as well as multiple intelligence agencies, media agencies, and the president in hopes that you can read what happened to him - and it is a challenging read - and agree with me when I say he should be pardoned from everything he did while under HYDRA’s control.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, this is my favorite clip,” Toni said on the plane back to New York. “See, the senators here are just gaping at what you said, and then this breaking news headline and Anderson Cooper appears in the corner with his face only half-done to inform that they _have_ the Winter Soldier dossier and they’re gonna talk about it on the panel.”

 

“You sure it was a good idea to tell everyone what happened to him?” Pepper asked.

 

“If we can establish him in the public mind as a victim as soon as possible, then the crimes that he’s found do have done will be secondary to his suffering,” Bernie said. “Plus, everyone loves a good love story, and the epic romance between Captain and Sergeant Barnes is so pervasive in popular culture, the more we have Stephanie yearn for her husband, the quicker people will forgive him for a happy ending.”

 

“And you’re alright with this?” Pepper asked.

 

“He deserves to be pardoned,” Stephanie said.

 

“I agree,” Pepper said. “I suppose, revealing the information your way would be better than if some journalist pulled it up without all the pieces. Are you really going to play the yearning wife in the media?”

 

“It’s not going to be that much of a role as much as a reality,” Stephanie said. “And, yeah, I don’t like being an image. But if I have to be an image, being the face of my husband’s liberation and the central testimony in his unofficial trial is the best one I could be.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie spent the next week circuiting from news channel to news channel, sitting in her wheelchair with Bernie off-camera, explaining and talking about the dossier with various journalists. They usually, thankfully, didn’t get into the disgusting details. But they asked her questions about her thoughts, they had her defend him vehemently on live television, or tell stories about her husband as she knew him that made the intern rush a box of tissues so her and the interviewer could have a good cry together. It was emotional and painful and sincere.

 

“I miss him,” She admitted several times. “And I hope he’s safe.”

 

* * *

 

While recovering, Stephanie and James stayed at Stark Tower. Stephanie needed as much rest as she could get, the doctors agreed, so she spent a very long time in bed, reading. Like she had read history when entering the 21st century, sociology when she started charity administration, now she was studying psychology, politics and international law. She would sit with Bernie in Bernie’s reinforced floor and talk for hours about what she thought Bucky’s prognosis could be with all they knew about his brain and her brain.

 

Colonel James Rhodes arrived not long after Stephanie did. He spent a long time talking with Toni before visiting Stephanie. “Captain Barnes,” He said.

 

“Colonel Rhodes,” She said.

 

“How are you healing?”

 

“Well,” She said.

 

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

 

“I’m okay,” She admitted. “You’re running the HYDRA task force, I’ve heard?”

 

“President’s personal pick,” Rhodey nodded. “He liked me after that mess with AIM. Even let me go back to War Machine if I wanted, Iron Patriot felt like I was pretending to be you, I admit.”

 

“How many are on the task force now?” Stephanie asked.

 

“A good number,” Rhodey said. “Sharon, Nat, and Claire, as you know. Hill opted out, she’s gonna do security for Pepper here at Stark, last I heard, but she’d be willing to consult then and now. A couple mobile teams showed up, asking to help. Information about some companies HYDRA was doing biotech weapon development with. Very helpful, got me a few more good officers. Bobbi Morse, you should know her? Isabelle Hartley, Melinda May, Mike Peterson. All good S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives who care about protecting people.”

 

“I heard you’ve been asking Sam,” Stephanie said.

 

“She said she’s interested, but I’m here for you,” Rhodey said.

 

“Captain America, huh?”

 

“Yeah, and Stephanie Barnes,” Rhodey said. “You don’t have to pick up that shield. That’s not what I need from you. But you know this drill better than anybody, and I feel like I’m Iron Patriot all over again, your sorry replacement, running this task force and not asking you for help. Toni’s gonna be a consultant and work with some technical things. I needed help with the S.H.I.E.L.D. files, NSA can’t do what Toni does. She’s gonna work on processing everything and organizing it into a database for us. I didn’t think she’d be eager to help, but then she told me about her folks.”

 

“HYDRA’s done a lot of bad, and made a lot of enemies,” Stephanie said.

 

“And now we need those enemies to stop them once and for all.”

 

“And what would you have me do?” Stephanie asked.

 

“HYDRA isn’t like some terror cells in Afghanistan,” Rhodey said. “We’ve got a list of possible but unconfirmed traitors so long it makes me cry, and that’s not even counting our known fugitives. I don’t need a shield, I need a strategist.”

 

“Last time someone said they needed a strategist, aliens came out of the sky,” Stephanie said.

 

“Yeah, and if that strategist hadn’t been there, we’d all be kneeling to Loki right now,” Rhodey added. Stephanie was quiet. He had a point. “We’ll make contact with secure emails through JARVIS’ encryption system, drives of data that can only be accessed by you and from the tower. Nobody but Stark will know you know what’s going on. All I need is advice, a second pair of eyes, a pair with experience.”

 

“What about Bucky?” Stephanie asked.

 

“We’re bargaining?” Rhodey asked. Stephanie shrugged. “Winter Soldier isn’t at the top of my list, and if we do happen to apprehend him or find evidence, you get to lead.”

 

“It’s your taskforce.”

 

“And he’s your husband,” Rhodey said.

 

“What happens if I get evidence?” Stephanie asked.

 

“You still get lead, your choice what to do with it,” Rhodey said. “We good?”

 

“Colonel, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone for reading. As always, I immensely appreciate your support and feedback, whether it be a comment/kudos/bookmark/subscription or some combination thereof. Let me know your thoughts about this chapter if you are so inclined, either here or on my Tumblr: aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com.


	15. Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatorily, I express my appreciation for all of you for reading. I hope you continue to enjoy this addition.

 

When the soldier learned that the Captain was moving cities, he took his car, and he drove for five hours to New York. She would be staying with Stark and Potts. Stark had dark hair and legs like his arm. Potts had light hair and was always stately when on camera. New York City was familiar, in the same, unspeakable way that guns and knives and the Captain clinging to his chest was familiar. He parked in an abandoned lot when he could, but he often had to pay for parking in the city, that took up a lot of his money. He wandered aimlessly, he knew the Captain was secure when she’s in the presence of Stark and Potts, and especially so when she’s in Stark’s building. He wandered aimlessly because staring ahead and walking is the closest thing to rest he’d gotten in a while. It had then been thirty-six hours since he last slept, and ten hours since he last ate. He was still gentle with food, even though he graduated from the slimy pouches of puree to simple things like crackers, soup broth, oatmeal, and fruit. He didn’t have to ration, he had enough money to eat until the soldier was full, but he knew that money would dwindle. It would be better to measure now than to starve later.

 

He doesn’t sleep because of the nightmares.

 

He realized when he tried to rest again in D.C. that the three hours of fitful sleep was because he was exhausted. After that, he usually only managed to get to about two before he woke himself in a cold sweat, memories flashing on the inside of his head. They’re always missions. Or torture. Never her. And when they happen, they send him on a high panic that would take hours to shake. He basically lived between his sleep. Pushing it and pushing it until he felt his body give out, and then he subjected himself to the terror so he can keep pushing.

 

He still didn’t understand how he was going to perform the mission operation.

 

The Captain was on the television a lot. First, she explained what happened. Then she started talking about him. _Forgive him_. She pleaded. _I miss him_.

 

The soldier wondered if her messages on television are in some sort of code for him. Triggers, or orders, possibly, but nothing stirred. He read articles about people saying that he deserves to be pardoned for his crimes, and that’s when the soldier understood, she’s trying to ensure he’ll be operational again. It makes sense. HYDRA was bad (authoritarian, fascist, dangerous) and he worked for HYDRA. For him to work for her, he had to no longer be affiliated with HYDRA. Of course, it wasn’t like she was lying. HYDRA was bad, and HYDRA made him work for them, but what else could she benefit from telling the world other than ensuring he’s operational again?

 

For a moment, he considered she’s doing it purely for her emotional attachment to him, but he had to remind himself not to get eager. She was his handler first because they were always handlers first. The nightmares reminded him of that.

 

* * *

 

 

His hand healed, he realized one day. The bandages had turned grey. He peeled them away, and beneath the crust of dried blood on the gauze pad was a barely marred palm, except for the five loops of floss pierced through the skin. He cut the ties with his scissors and pulled them out. The skin puckered where the floss was. A few hours later, those puckers were gone too.

 

He remembered something the Captain said on the television. She said that his mind would heal because of the serum. Like his hand. Maybe, he didn’t have to wander around, searching for triggers. Perhaps he could just let his head heal. It was a comforting thought that it will heal by itself.

 

* * *

 

 

The nightmares got worse. The soldier woke up curled in the backseat of the car, and inches from his, there was a face. He was sure there was a face. A haunting, empty, expressionless face. He wanted to move, he wanted to kick, he wanted to scream. He couldn’t. He closed his eyes, and he waited. He opened them again. The face was gone, he could move. He sat up and guzzled a bottle of water, his throat dry. He remembered that face as he held himself and shivered in the back of the car. It was the face of a mission objective, from long ago.

 

That was not the last apparition. In addition to the nightmares, he got the visitors. He woke up, unable to move, and they stared at him. People he killed, always people he killed. They were expressionless, pale in the moonlight, and not really there. He knew they were dead. He also knew they’re visiting him. He did research on the internet: One site said ghosts, the other discussed the symptoms of sleep paralysis. Both seemed equally plausible.

 

* * *

 

He followed the Captain’s social media page. He checked it daily. Usually, she just liked other people’s intel or spread it along. He was in New York for two weeks when she finally gives intel.

 

_Good News, Everybody! I’m officially out of the casts!_

 

She was out of the casts? That meant she may have been mobile again, but he was not anywhere near the Stark Tower, how would he know where she goes if he couldn’t observe? That was an oversight on his part, and it would make completing the mission objective all the more difficult if he had no idea where she was. He still had no idea how to discourage her from seeking him out. He grabbed his backpack, and he left the car, deciding that he would be faster on foot in this city, where he could take advantage of the urban environment. He made his way to Stark Tower, he situated himself on the roof of a building where he had a line of sight on the entrances and exits of the tower as well as the secret vehicle entrance two blocks over. He was up there for eleven hours before he saw her, walking out of the front door with Potts. She was walking slowly and carefully, dressed like a civilian, her golden hair catching in the sunlight. He followed them. They walked three blocks to an eating establishment, ate for fifty minutes, and then returned to the tower. 

 

He waited another five hours to confirm she was indeed still staying at the tower before heading back to the car. He had already scoped out a lot not too far from the tower that will be affordable. He makes his way back through the city and to the car lot. When he gets there, he experiences a blinding flash of panic. His car is gone. It’s completely gone. He investigated, of course, but there were so many skid marks and people in the area, there’s no direct lead. He remembers with a painful wave of self-deprecations that he left the keys in the ignition when he went to look for the Captain. What an idiot.

 

He set up camp on a rooftop and reevaluated his supplies. He had about two days worth of food, three bottles of water, two sports drinks, his manicure kit, his notebooks, his pens, his burner phones, his watch, his identifications, his bandages, his StarkLaptop, and about a thousand dollars in cash. If he focused all of the money onto food, he could last twenty-eight weeks on the most rigorous rationing. However, he never knew when he would need emergency supplies, so he decided to adjust that rationing window to twenty weeks. 

 

Once that was out of the way, the question was punishment. Often, when he made a mistake like this, he was punished. His experiences with HYDRA were often physical beatings. They would drag him around, slam heavy things into his body until he was bruised and twitching. Other times, they would just leave him in the machine until his hair was singed and he couldn’t open his eyes. However, HYDRA was a terrorist organization, and his rightful handler was the Captain. The issue was that he still didn’t know the Captain’s procedures. He knew her mother’s name was Sarah Rogers, and he knew that she liked to draw. But he didn’t remember what he was supposed to do to receive punishment. From the Smithsonian, he knew that she yelled at him and then hugged him when it seemed he upset her, but he had no idea the context for that situation. That could have been a minor offense, and this was most certainly a significant offense. He had lost most of his supplies and his shelter.

 

His only choice was to include it in the mission report in his notebook and hope that she would deal with it if she got the chance.

 

* * *

 

 

The Captain and Potts went jogging every morning through the city and around the large park in Manhattan, likely as part of the Captain’s recovery. They both went a lot faster and ran a lot longer than most people, and that was when the soldier realized that Potts was also enhanced. That was good. It assured him that the mission objective was being secured, even though he was not the one securing it.

 

Then it was not so good.

 

What if she didn’t need him anymore? If she had Potts, and Potts was enhanced, and Potts was clearly helping the mission objective, what if he had been replaced? What if he’d taken too long to make contact, and instead of looking for him, she decided to replace him and continue to fulfill the mission objective?

 

He tried to assure himself that this was not the case. The Captain had been clearly looking for him and trying to make contact with him while she was staying with Potts and Stark. Perhaps, instead of him being replaced, he wasn’t the only operative who was part of the mission objective? That was much more reasonable than the Captain had multiple people who were participating in the mission objective. Stark, Potts, Romanoff, Wilson, and Carter were the five that he knew of. They were also the five that the Captain spent the most time with when she left the tower. Beyond jogging with Potts, she would get meals with all of them and sometimes travel in cars with them to various locations in the city.

 

The soldier still hoped that he was her favorite operative, even though he didn’t let himself admit it.

 

* * *

 

 

_Not only is @IAmTheToniStark kind enough to let me stay in her home, but she’s also helping me refurnish mine, sorry IKEA, we had a good run!_

 

It was a message, the soldier realized, that provided valuable intel. The Captain was going to be staying at Stark’s tower temporarily, and would soon return to a different location. It was his responsibility to determine where. Based on the images provided on the Captain’s social media, he was able to pinpoint the exact furniture store that she was shopping at. Once he located the warehouse on west 18th street, he infiltrated the facility and checked the shipping manifests, determining where Captain Barnes would be moving, an apartment in Brooklyn.

 

With the address in his mind, he made his way to Park Slope and watched the apartment from a tall building two blocks over. It was under construction but in the final stages. The contracted construction company was owned by Stark Industries, and it seemed they were installing some sort of security system at the moment. The Captain had extended her stay at Stark Tower, so her apartment in Brooklyn could become a more secure location, it made sense. And Stark was assisting her because of the mission objective.

 

He used this opportunity to scope locations that had the best line of sight for her building. It had tall, thick glass windows that provided her apartment was well-lit in the daytime, but based on the thickness, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were reinforced like the windows of the car she drove when she tried to escape him. Windows that resisted bullets, being smashed in, and small concussive blasts. It allowed her to safely have so many windows. It also allowed him to have a good understanding of the layout of her apartment and see the inside. It was also a few stories above street level, so the only way he could get visibility was on a higher rooftop. He roughly sketched the two levels of her apartment that he could see in his mission report and identified the security system and how comprehensively it protected her new location. It was flawless, as far as he could tell from the distance he kept. That pleased him. Stark was good at completing the mission objective. Maybe better than him. That didn’t please him.

 

He was able to get from his lookout point at Stark Tower to his lookout point in Park Slope in half an hour on foot, which was adequate for the time being. He checked between the two locations several times a day, supervising the tower and supervising the apartment as the furniture was moved in and appliances were installed.

 

Sometimes, he didn’t watch. He usually did, but if he knew that the Captain was secure and there wasn’t much going on at the apartment, he would wander again. He found that he gravitated toward natural areas. Central Park in Manhattan and Prospect Park in Brooklyn were his two favorite locations to walk. The smell of grass and the quiet was comforting in a way the rest of the sprawling urban city was not. If his head was starting to hurt from apparitions, or memories trying to claw their way out, lying in the grass and focusing on the clouds passing overhead helped still him in a way that curling into a ball and rocking through sobs didn’t. He started to spend more time in the park.

 

One night, he was walking through Prospect Park, near the peristyle but on the path along the edge of Prospect Park Lake. It was past midnight, and the water was reflecting the darkness of the partly-cloudy night sky. He was lost in the state of thought when he felt himself edging toward a memory, wandering along the path, a small part of his mind aware of his surroundings. That part was shaken when there was a quiet sob coming from a grove of trees. It was a helpless, muffled choke of despair that sent his blood cold and his chest tight. He was pushing his way into the grove of trees without a second thought. There were a woman and a man. The man was standing over the woman, pointing a gun at her.

 

He knew this wasn’t good. The woman noticed him, eyes wide and desperate. The man turned around and saw him, brandishing the weapon.

 

“Shoot me or get out of here,” he croaked, but it was said with an intense, unyielding glare. The man’s hand shook. Finally, the man pulled the trigger. The bullet went right into the gloved metal hand that the soldier threw in its path. It bounced off and hit the tree. The man was frozen in fear. Very slowly, the soldier reached out and snatched the gun from him, crumpling the barrel in his hand. 

 

“Leave, or I’ll kill you. Harm another person, and I’ll find you and kill you,” The soldier heard himself saying, voice a low growl in his throat. The ran out of the grove, and for good measure, the soldier hurled the now-useless weapon at the fleeing body. It hit him in the shoulder, and he tumbled and skidded onto his face, picking himself up out of the muddy grass and continuing to run. The soldier turned to the woman, crumpled on the ground and barely holding herself 

 

“Did he hurt you?” the soldier asked, offering his right hand to the woman. She accepted his hand. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m, yeah, just shaken,” She said. “I - thank you. I was coming back from a date and, ugh, rapists in the bushes? Why is that still a thing?” She shook her head. “It, the date didn’t go too well, and I didn’t want him to walk me home, and I only live, like, three blocks away, so I thought might as well. I, gosh,” She shook her head. “I’m rambling.”

 

“You’re in shock,” the soldier said bluntly.

 

“Probably,” She agreed. “Thank you, again, I guess it’s nice to know there are some good men still out there.”

 

“I’m not a good man,” the soldier admitted. She looked up at him strangely. “I’m just painfully familiar with how it feels to be forced into something you didn’t want to do.”

 

“Well,” She said. “You’re good in my book. Are you okay? You look homeless. Do you need money-” she picked her purse up out of the dirt. He backed away defensively, she dug her hand in her purse and started searching around “-because I have money. I have, here-” She opened her wallet, dug her hand in, and pulled out two hundred dollars in twenties and tens. He shook his head. “Please, you look like you’re starving.”

 

Slowly, he accepted the money, “Do you need me to walk you home?”

 

“No, I’ll call the cops,” She said. “You can go. I know they’re not the best to homeless people around here. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.”

 

The soldier nodded and disappeared.

 

That night, he remembered something different. The Captain in an alley, shrouded in darkness, a man standing above her and another woman. The woman’s dress was ripped, and although the Captain was still small and sick, she was standing between the two, holding a trash can lid like her shield, threatening to bash the man if he got closer. The soldier remembered grabbing the man by his shoulder and snapping his nose.

 

“What the hell, Steph?” He asked.

 

“He was hurting her!” Stephanie protested. The woman was sobbing.

 

The soldier knew why his past self was so angry. Mission objective: protect her had been threatened by the Captain’s kind actions. “He coulda hurt _you_.”

 

“He coulda,” Stephanie nodded. “He coulda tried. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help!”

 

He sighed, “Yeah, I know.”

 

That’s when he realized a vital protocol, him protecting her could not interfere with her protection of others. She wouldn’t allow it.

 

* * *

 

 

He was in Prospect Park two days later, his back against a tree. He was obscured from the pathway by the foliage, but close enough that he could hear what was going on. This was a good location, it allowed his awareness of his surroundings while still feeling isolated and able to find some moments of peace. He absent-mindedly played with the rings on the chain, pressing them through his fingers and wrapping the chain around the palm of his hand. It was simple. It was peaceful.

 

Or at least, he would have felt peace if he hadn’t heard _her voice_.

 

It drifted into his ears from a distance, echoing, so he knew she was passing through the tunnel beneath the bridge. “Where are we going, James?” She asked the smile on her face could be heard in her cadence. Was she talking to him? His name was supposed to be James Buchanan Barnes, but she had only ever referred to him as Bucky. He listened. He heard her footsteps, careful and delicate, the muffled sounds indicated she was wearing proper running shoes. There was a second pair of steps, these were lighter, but they were also quicker and with less grace. A small body, a child, slamming his feet against the ground as he walked. Bucky turned toward the path, still crouched in his hiding space, to watch them emerge from the tunnel.

 

“The Cawousel!” A child’s voice exclaimed. The child emerged first, a bit less than a meter in height. He had dark hair and a slight imbalance in his walk, indicating that he was probably three years or younger in age. He was dragging the Captain behind him by her hand. She was stooped slightly to hold his hand, but keeping pace behind him, smiling like he hadn’t seen her do since the newsreels.

 

“The carousel?” the Captain asked loudly. “Is that all you want to do?”

 

“No, and then the zoo,” the child declared.

 

“It’s your birthday, bubba,” She said. “Do you want to go to the gardens, too?”

 

“No.”

 

“No, why not?”

 

“I don’t wike it,” He said. “Thewe’s just… pwants!”

 

“You don’t like plants?”

 

“They’ we bowuhing.”

 

“I see,” She said. “Well, I won’t bore you on your birthday.”

 

He followed them, still buried in the foliage, as they headed toward the carousel. There were other families with children. They paid a small fee for their child to sit on a plastic horse and go in circles as the horse bobbed along with a piston. The carousel was enclosed in a small brick rotunda. He watched as the Captain took the child, James, onto the carousel.

 

What was the child? The child was named James, like him, and the Captain clearly cared for the child. He feared, once again, that he had been replaced. But why would a child be necessary for the mission objective? Potts, Stark, Romanoff, he understood those. This child could not protect her, in fact, it seemed like she was committed to protecting him. So what if the child wasn’t a replacement for the mission objective, but for emotional attachment? Clearly, the nature of the relationship wouldn’t be the same, familial versus romantic, but it was certainly a relationship that was very important to her.

 

How did she get the child, he wondered. Did she look for one that looked like him, as this one did (as far as he could tell with the distance) and name it after him? He had seen the child before, but he always assumed irrelevancy, never seeing the pair interacting personally outside like this. It was an oversight on his part, yet another, and it would add to the list of mistakes he made that was growing in his mission report.

 

Then, he remembered the video he watched when she had spoken to the Senate.

 

_“It was the agency S.H.I.E.L.D. which found me in the arctic and managed my return to society in the twenty-first century. However, because I discovered I was pregnant, I declined their offer to work for the agency and instead retired to a private life.”_

 

Soon after she was released from the ice, she discovered she was pregnant. Now, she was raising a child that looked like him. She went into the ice very shortly after he was acquired by HYDRA, meaning that-

 

Meaning that-

 

Meaning that the child, James, was not merely her child, it was _his_ child as well. He had impregnated his handler, and she was raising the child.

 

A part of him reminded him that romantic and sexual relationships often resulted in children, and that was even more likely of relationships that were considered husband and wife, like theirs, was.

 

He watched the Captain and her child.

 

Their child.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have all been _eagerly_ awaiting when he realizes he has a kid, so I'm glad to provide finally.
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued feedback and support. I adore all of your comments, kudos and bookmarks, and your feedback, especially.


	16. Watched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus, unfortunately, both school and work have resumed for me so I can't prioritize updating as much as I used to. I might go from updating weekly to updating every other week, or whenever I have the chance, really. But, I hope you enjoy this chapter, nevertheless. Thank you for waiting.

 

If more people in the government and the military were like Colonel Rhodes, Stephanie would not have as many problems as she did. To call him effective at his job was an understatement. He was more experienced, intelligent, and capable than he seemed to give himself credit for. Once Stephanie was permitted to be read in on some operations, she was impressed with his direction and management he had. When he did need her help, it was because he didn’t understand some reference or some code that they kept, antiquated systems from the war that kept them running. Other times, it was for mission plays, and she directed him the quickest infiltration based on how they would organize themselves. His task force took down nearly a dozen HYDRA cells, two facilities, and about fifty lone operatives in the United States. All Stephanie contributed was their emails while she was on bed rest.

 

Sam joined the task force with Stephanie’s encouragement, and Toni had the time of her life improving the Falcon wings, studying the Winter Soldier arm, and making gear for the taskforce while also setting up the intelligence database. Stephanie watched her dance across her lab, kicking against a desk where she was programming the database and sliding with her rolling chair across the lab so she could work on something, update a schematic, before launching somewhere else and modeling the circuitry system. When she was in her zone, she was a brilliant whirlwind.

 

She was also incredibly determined. According to Pepper, Toni’s recent hyper-fixation was having HYDRA suffer. It was such a hyper-fixation that she and Pepper decided to postpone the wedding.

 

“It’s not like we don’t want to get married,” Pepper explained. “It’s just, this is eating at her. Hell, it’s eating at me a little bit. The country is a mess, they need out help, and there are other times to get married.”

 

“You were looking forward to it, though,” Stephanie said.

 

“Yeah,” Pepper nodded. “We’re still looking forward to it. There’s a list, you know. There are nine major HYDRA operatives in the wind. The main heads.”

 

“I am intimately aware of every HYDRA operative in the wind,” Stephanie said.

 

“Well, we’ve agreed, once we get the nine, we’ll put the wedding back on,” Pepper said.

 

“There’s a lot of room for things to get in the way between then and now,” Stephanie said. “You don’t have to delay your happiness because of HYDRA.”

 

“I know,” Pepper said. “That’s not why we’re doing this. We’re already together, we’re already happy. The wedding was supposed to be a celebration of that. It feels wrong to celebrate anything while neo-fascists are being forcibly removed from the government.”

 

* * *

 

 

With her excellent behavior, Stephanie was allowed to have her casts removed two weeks precisely after the beam fell on her legs. As the plaster was broken off, there was a puff of dead skin. Within an hour, Stephanie was walking around, and she happily tweeted her success. 

 

“It’s gonna be so nice to be back home,” She said.

 

“You’re not going back home,” Toni said. “You need to stay here. It’s far safer in the tower.”

 

“HYDRA isn’t after me,” Stephanie said.

 

“How do you know they’re not just keeping their distance?” Toni asked. “Waiting until you’re vulnerable. You’re recovering still, so you’re staying.”

 

“Toni,” Stephanie said. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

 

Toni sighed, “Okay, maybe not, but as your friend, I gotta tell you, going back is a dumb idea while your place isn’t secure.”

 

“Are you offering to make it secure?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Yeah,” Toni said. “I’ll buy your building. Set up a security system that’ll keep you and Jimmy safe. It’ll be a good excuse for you to finally get better furniture.”

 

“What the hell is wrong with my furniture?” Stephanie asked.

 

“I know how much you get paid, Steph, and you still live with IKEA?”

 

“I don’t spend a lot of money on furniture so I can devote it to charity,” Stephanie said.

 

“You  _ run fifteen charities _ ,” Toni said.

 

“There’s always more I can do,” Stephanie said.

 

“Okay, well, how about this, I’ll buy your furniture.”

 

“That’s  _ worse _ .”

 

“I just think you’re so far up your own ass in this whole martyrdom thing you refuse to let yourself enjoy things,” Toni said. “That or you feel so guilty about something: your husband, HYDRA, the state of global affairs, I don’t know, that you intentionally punish yourself. What do you  _ want _ , Stephanie?”

 

Stephanie chewed on her bottom lip in thought, “The apartment above mine has been empty for three last three months. If you buy my building, can you rip out the ceiling and make it a two-story with vaulted ceilings in the living area? And more windows. I know they’re a liability, but I like natural lighting. And if we get furniture, fine, it’ll be better than IKEA. But not  _ that _ much better. I don’t need to spend a million dollars on a dining table or something. And I want to move back in soon. Like, before Valentine’s day.”

 

“Do you need me to hire an interior designer?” Toni asked.

 

“No, I can do that,” Stephanie said.

 

“Alright,” Toni said. “One two-story apartment with bulletproof natural lighting, a state-of-the-art security system, and a vaulted ceiling coming right up. JARVIS, you’ve already bought the  building, right?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day after Stephanie was freed from her casts, she was visited by Rhodey. It was unusual, because most of their HYDRA-related correspondence was through email or video calling, and he clearly wasn’t there for leisure based on his blues and the fact that Toni wasn’t expecting him.

 

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

 

“You’re lead,” He told her.

 

Her breath caught in her throat, “What’ve you got?”

 

“A car, we moved it to the garage for you,” he said. She followed him to the elevator. “It was towed by the city last night, parked illegally. They checked the registration, and it belonged to a  woman in D.C. who said sold it to a strange man two days after Project Insight and refused to pay the tow fee. NYPD assumed HYDRA immediately, contacted us. We knew who the strange man was as soon as we opened the bags.”

 

They reached the garage level and stepped past rows of cars for Stark business and Toni’s personal collection, landing on the spot with the vehicle in question. “1989 Honda Civic,” Rhodey explained.

 

“What was in the bags?”

 

Rhodey lifted the trunk and rifled through a collection of plastic forensic bags. He pulled out one that had leather, strappy uniform with only the right arm. The left arm was chopped off, and the area around it showed burnishing and wear. It was undoubtedly his.

 

“Where’d you find the car?” She asked.

 

“Hell’s Kitchen,” He replied.

 

“He’s still in New York,” Stephanie said.

 

“Probably,” Rhodey agreed. “Here’s the manifest.”

 

Stephanie looked at it, “He didn’t have any weapons.”

 

“We noticed that too,” Rhodey said. “Maybe he puts all of them on his body?”

 

“Not even a goddamn  _ knife _ . Just trash bags, toilet paper, food, water, cash, medical supplies, Bucky was living out of here, wasn’t he?”

 

“For the last two weeks, probably,” Rhodey nodded.

 

“He’d given himself stitches,” Stephanie said. “Needles and floss. Cheap and good in a pinch.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“He’s  _ homeless _ ,” She said.

 

“He’s probably alright. He has to know of places in the city where he can go-”

 

“Like safehouses? The ones you’ve cleared out?” Stephanie asked. “Do you need me to pay the tow fee?”

 

“It’s been handled,” Rhodey assured her.

 

“He’s watching me,” She said.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I don’t,” She said. “But if he wanted to rediscover his past, he’d be in Brooklyn. He’s in Hell's Kitchen because that lets him get to Stark Tower quickly enough, but his safe place wouldn’t get on Toni’s cameras. Cars are easier to track than people.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Would it be wrong if I wanted him to find me?” She asked. “I could leave the tower a bit more. Go jogging at Central Park.”

 

“You’re lead,” Rhodey shrugged.

 

“He doesn’t know about the place in Brooklyn, probably,” She said. “He’s only seen me in Stark Tower since Insight.”

 

“You want him to know about your Brooklyn apartment?” Rhodey asked.

 

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “It’s my home. He’s my husband. In a perfect world, we’d be living there together.”

 

“In a perfect world,” Rhodey reminded her. “I get that you love your husband, just be reasonable.”

 

Stephanie nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie told Toni and Pepper about the task force’s discovery and her desire to be seen in public more so Bucky knew where she was and that she was safe. Toni and Pepper insisted that if she did leave, she was accompanied, which is how Pepper and Stephanie became jogging partners. They would go in the early morning and Toni would keep an eye on James. They would run through Central Park and come back to see that Tony had ordered breakfast for them. Stephanie didn’t see Bucky on any of her runs, but if he were watching, he’d have gotten an eyeful of her and Pepper jogging, and quite quickly, too. After their first jog, Stephanie kept picking up the pace, to test both the strength of her legs and Pepper. Pepper kept keeping up with her, and soon they were blazing past everyone in Central Park, still keeping a conversation as they ran. Stephanie mentioned this to Pepper after their fourth run together, and Pepper, panting slightly, said, “Do you think I should train?”

 

“Train for what?” Stephanie asked. Pepper punched at the air. “Why do you think you need to know how to fight?”

 

“The life we live is pretty unforgiving,” She said. “I’m not saying that I’m gonna start suiting up with the Avengers, but it couldn’t hurt to know how to, you know when I need to?  _ If _ I need  to.”

“If,” Stephanie nodded. “I was planning on getting back into combat training anyway. I was rusty when all that with HYDRA happened.”

 

“Right, holding your own against your amnesiac leather-clad cyborg assassin husband thrice is  _ rusty _ .”

 

“I used to be the lone woman tank-breaker,” Stephanie said. “I once took out an entire submarine of HYDRA operatives by myself. Eighty men, close-quarters fighting, and I couldn’t use  guns in case we depressurized. And, remember, my amnesiac leather-clad assassin husband did nearly kill me, he just remembered me at the last moment. The fact he ever got the upper hand in the first place? I was rusty.”

 

“You’re not going back into it, are you?” Pepper asked.

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “But in case it comes for me, wouldn’t kill me to be prepared, would it? In fact, being prepared would stop it from killing me. Isn’t that your point?”

 

“Right, my point,” Pepper said. “I just think being at the point where you’re able to break a tank is a little excessive.”

 

“Yeah, well, you can breathe fire if you tried, so do discount yourself so soon,” Stephanie said.

 

* * *

 

 

Toni took Stephanie to a furniture warehouse that was definitely somewhere between IKEA and millions of dollars. It had solid hand-crafted furniture that wasn’t cheap but wasn’t exorbitantly expensive. They had one of the designers helping them, showing them the fabric and color swatches for the styles that Stephanie liked, and the different available stains for the wooden furniture sets. Once Stephanie ordered a ridiculous amount of furniture, she and Toni headed back to the tower, and she rattled off a tweet about her day.

 

“You’ve realized,” Toni said. “That your living room furniture is red and blue?”

 

“Maroon and navy with neutral accents,” Stephanie said.

 

“Stephanie-”

 

“It’s a good color combination,” Stephanie protested.

 

“Let’s face it, you’ve gotten a soft spot for the flag colors,” Toni said. “They do wonders for your complexion.”

 

“Aw, gee, thanks, pal,” Stephanie quipped.

 

“Just so you know, construction is going well,” Toni said. “I got some pictures from the contractor to check the natural lighting with the reinforced windows. It’s good. We’re also adding to  your bookshelf and getting you a bigger ladder, so it’ll run up both stories of that wall in the open level. We’re also soundproofing and redoing the appliances.”

 

“Toni-”

 

“Look, when Sergeant Barnes comes back and gets his head sorted right, you guys are due for a very loud reunion, and I don’t want to traumatize li’l Jimmy,” Toni shrugged.

 

“Toni!” Stephanie exclaimed.

 

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized,” Toni said. “You have a thing for the metal and the leather, I can tell.”

 

Stephanie was quiet for some time, “Is it  _ obvious _ ?”

 

Toni burst out laughing, “Holy shit, I was joking - do you actually have a thing for the metal and the leather?”

 

“I have a thing for  _ Bucky _ ,” Stephanie said. “I had a thing for his suits, I had a thing for his uniform, I… yeah, I have a thing.”

 

“That’s so cute,” Toni said. “Other question, did you only get into the leather when you found out it was him or were you like  _ weirdly _ into the Winter Soldier?”

 

“Can I,” Stephanie said slowly, swallowing. “Not answer?”

 

“That’s basically an answer,” Toni said. Then she cackled. “I don’t know if that’s sweet or weird. Both probably.”

 

“Probably,” Stephanie echoed. “I’m just… I’m still  _ into _ him, you know? I think about him, and I’m a sixteen-year-old girl from Brooklyn and pining all over again.”

 

“You don’t have to justify yourself,” Toni said. “I think it’s sweet. And don’t worry. Your kinks are safe with me.”

 

“ _ Toni! _ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s approve the applications for the Women in STEM scholarship by the end of the week,”  Pepper suggested as she stretched on the gym floor for a training session with Stephanie.

 

“All of them?” Stephanie asked.

 

“Sure,” Pepper shrugged. “I’ll get Toni to sign the checks.”

 

“We’re not supposed to be talking about work when we hit things,” Stephanie reminded her.

 

“Right, sorry,” Pepper said. She slipped on the reinforced gloves, fire retardant with padding around the knuckles. Stephanie did the same. 

 

“Okay, so you’ve got the basics of a boxing pattern down,” Stephanie said. “Now we’re gonna work on movement off of that. Blocking, dodging, those sorts of things.” Stephanie walked 

 

Pepper through blocking and dodging techniques, showing her how to twist her shoulders and her hips as she moved around to avoid attacks. Then she started trying to land hits on her. She started slow, and Pepper fumbled, but eventually, they both started picking up the pace. Extremis did something with Peppers head and her body, and she soon was able to dodge around Stephanie’s strikes with relative ease. Stephanie got even quicker, feinting and snapping her hands, so Pepper had to keep working at it. After twenty straight minutes of Stephanie trying to hit Pepper and Pepper trying to not get hit, they decided to take a break.

 

Off to the side, there was lone applause. The girls turned to see Nat striding over.

 

“Good job,” Nat said. “You’re picking up boxing quick, Pepper.”

 

“Thanks, Nat,” Pepper said, wiping the sweat off her brow. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead at a weird angle. “What’s up?”

 

“We got a sighting,” Nat said. “Someone saw Sergeant Barnes.” Stephanie snapped to attention. “Prospect Park, last night. A woman was walking back from a bad date when there was a guy with a gun, he attacked her. Then, a homeless man showed up. Dark hair, reportedly ‘stacked’ according to the police report. He told the guy to go away, and then deflected the man’s bullet with a metal hand and broke his gun. Once the guy ran away, he helped the girl and offered to escort her home. She said she gave him some money and told him to leave before she called the police because she assumed he was homeless and didn’t want him to get in trouble. It was only  _ afterward _ in the police station she realized, hey, that was Bucky Barnes.”

 

“Where in Prospect Park?”

 

“South banks of the lake.”

 

Stephanie nodded, she knew the location, “We used to picnic there.”

 

“Aw,” Nat said. “Anyway, Rhodes said you should know. You get priority on any intel.”

 

“Thank you, Nat,” Stephanie said. “I’m glad he’s in Brooklyn. Hopefully, he’s seen the apartment, I didn’t tweet about furniture because of my genuine excitement.”

 

“Sorry, what?” Pepper asked.

 

“I tweeted out that we went to the furniture warehouse,” Stephanie said. “I know he’s keeping tabs on me. I was hoping that he’d check the registries or something and find my address.”

 

“That could be dangerous,” Nat said.

 

“The only person it sounds like he’s any danger to are rapists in parks,” Stephanie said. “Speaking of, was the guy found?”

 

“Oh, yeah, he confessed immediately, too,” Nat said. “Your husband scared him shitless.”

 

“Well, like father, like child,” Stephanie grinned, ebbing Nat on.

 

“I can’t believe you’re still teasing me about that,” Nat shook their head. “Two can play at that game,  _ Mom _ .”

 

“I’m so confused,” Pepper said.

 

“I adopted Nat,” Stephanie said.

 

“Oh, okay,” Pepper said, clearly still confused, but wise enough from her years with Toni not to ask. “I’m gonna hit the showers before my afternoon meetings.”

 

“He could still be unstable,” Nat reminded Stephanie.

 

“I know,” Stephanie said. “But I have faith-”

 

“In people, I know,” Nat said. “It’s adorable and infuriating.”

 

“I try,” Stephanie said. “So, it’s your little brother’s birthday this weekend.”

 

“And?” Nat asked with a latent sigh from Stephanie’s insistence on reminding them at every turn they were adopted now.

 

“I wanted to move back into the apartment as a gift to him, Toni said it’s nearly finished, just some accessorizing left,” Stephanie said. “I’ve never understood how they did those house  transformations in like five days on HGTV, and the answer is just money.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Nat said.

 

“So, James and I are gonna spend the day doing something he picked, and then in the afternoon, we’ll settle in. So if you guys want to bring him gifts, shoot for the afternoon,” Stephanie said.

 

“Noted,” Nat said. “I gotta head off. We found a facility in one of the Dakotas.”

 

“Have fun,” Stephanie said. “Be safe.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nat said. “See you later.”

 

* * *

 

 

James’ birthday request was Prospect Park, which Stephanie had no qualms with, as it was the last location Bucky had been seen. They walked through the Park, around the lake, and to the Carousel, where James insisted on riding five times in a row. Stephanie didn’t mind that he liked the horses and the music and the circles, it gave her time with her son. She watched the treeline as they went around and around, habit more than anything. But Stephanie did feel distinctly like she was being watched. Maybe it was because she knew this was the last place Bucky had been seen. Perhaps because he was actually there, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t let it take over James’ day.

 

Next, they went to a small zoo. It was about two hours’ worth of easier animals in the heart of Brooklyn, and James was drawn to the monkeys and llamas. James liked to watch them and have Stephanie read him the little plaques about each of the animals, and she was more than happy to lift him onto her shoulders so he could get the best views of everything possible. They walked back, cutting through Prospect Park, and headed toward the apartment on Union Street. There was now a doorman stationed at the building, as well as a guard in the lobby. Stephanie took the stairs, James still on her shoulders, to the level where her apartment was. She pulled her keys from her purse and let herself in.

 

It looked phenomenal. It was familiar, but also new. The living area was refurbished, with high ceilings from where Toni took out the above apartment. The bookshelf was doubled in size, and the long, narrow ladder meant that Stephanie would have even more room for books, which was great because she loved books. The wall with the bay windows looking out into the street was painted a navy blue to match some of the throw pillows and a chair in the living room. The sectional and the dining chairs were maroon. The wood had a black stain, the light fixtures were stained black steel, the floor rug was beige, and the other throw pillows were white, grey, and silver. There was a spiral staircase that led to a landing right above the hallway. The master bedroom was doubled in size, now with a small sitting area as well as the large bed, nightstands, dressers, and armoire. Stephanie’s office was updated, there was a proper guest bedroom upstairs, James’ room, and the nursery. James was still too small to sleep in the loft bed in his room, so he would stay in the nursery for a while longer, but his room also included his play area. Stephanie could also access the security system from her StarkPhone, with special sensors on all the windows, cameras internal and external, multiple sensors, and a simple AI which supervised her apartment and contacted her if something was amiss.

 

James was very excited to open the gifts he received from his friends and Stephanie’s friends, and he insisted that they play together for the rest of the afternoon. When she put him to bed and headed to bed herself, she was glad to be home.

 

* * *

 

 

 Toni hadn’t answered any of Stephanie’s calls or texts all morning or replied to her emails. Stephanie decided to head down to her workshop and see what was sucking all her time. She watched Toni for five minutes as she was engrossed with programming something. Absolutely engrossed. She had a half-empty smoothie on her desk, a bottle of water, and hunched posture as she typed.

 

“Toni,” Stephanie finally called out. Toni snapped up.

 

“What?” Toni asked.

 

“Check your phone,” Stephanie said. Toni checked it.

 

“Sorry,” Toni said.

 

“It’s fine,” Stephanie said. “I have stuff you need to sign. Pepper might do literally everything else, but you are officially the one who has to sign the things.”

 

“Yeah,” Toni said. Stephanie handed her the packet, and a pen, Toni’s signature started flying around the page.

 

“What’re you working on?” Stephanie asked.

 

Toni’s eyes lit up, “I had an idea last night, and I haven’t been able to shake it. You know what’s one of the hardest things, consistently, about these apocalyptic events?”

 

“The fact that they happen?” Stephanie asked.

 

“True, but also, the safety of civilians,” Toni said. Stephanie nodded in understanding.  “Evacuation of Manhattan. London. D.C. We can’t easily fight the bad guys and protect the people without resources and manpower. And I think protection can be digitized. I’m programming an A.I interface that will be able to manage evacuation procedures on a global scale, and with it, I’m going to provide technology to assist those evacuations. Evacuation pods with medical supplies. Robots who will help manage crowd control and provide temporary structural integrity for buildings. All automated, so we don’t have to wait for someone to get their shit in order. Think about this, natural disaster happens, the interface can figure out what the issue is through public information, like social media, as well as satellite imaging, and environmental sensors, and launch the necessary supplies and bodies to get people to safety. I’m running some models now, and if I can get it to the scale I want it, we can evacuate 95% of Manhattan in six hours.”

 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Stephanie admitted. “It actually might be a good one.”

 

“Of course it’s a good idea, I came up with it,” Toni said. “I just got a little sucked in.”

 

“It’s fine,” Stephanie said. “Does Pepper know you’re on a binge?”

 

“No, I should probably let her know,” Toni said. “So she doesn’t get worried if I get weird.”

 

“Just make sure to eat,” Stephanie said, clapping a hand on Toni’s shoulder supportively before heading back with the signed paperwork.

 

* * *

 

 

Stephanie was walking back to the apartment from the grocery store that evening. James sat on her shoulders, his hands fastened into her hair and holding on tight, while she had bags of groceries in either side and her purse slung around her torso. As they walked, they played I-Spy. James would find something in the environment and describe it, and Stephanie would try to find it. Every time she guessed wrong, he would give her another clue, or he would tell her if he could no longer see it. That meant she lost that round. It was a fun, easy game to play, and it taught James to be aware of his surroundings, which was necessary for many reasons.

 

“I spy somet’ing that’s gween,” James said.

 

“Is it a tree?” Stephanie asked.

 

“No. It’s smalluh.”

 

“Is it a bush?”

 

“No. It’s smalluh.”

 

“Is it… that woman’s hat?”

 

“Yes!” James said happily. He kissed the top of her head. “Good job, Mommy. Okay…” He went quiet for a moment as he looked around. They had about a block left. “Is see something grey.”

 

“Is it that car?”

 

“No, it’s smalluh.”

 

“Is it that pigeon?”

 

“No, it’s metal.”

 

“Is it… that lamppost?”

 

“No, it’s highuh.”

 

“Higher?” Stephanie asked. “Is it that box in the window?” She looked up at the AC unit on the top floor of the apartment building they were passing.

 

“No, it’s highuh,” James said again. “It’s gone now.”

 

“It’s gone now?” Stephanie asked. “What was it?”

 

“Thewe was a guy with a metal hand,” James said. “On the woof.”

 

“Really?” Stephanie asked, the air suddenly gone from her lungs. “What was he doing?”

 

“He waved at me,” James said. “His hand was shiny.”

 

“Huh,” Stephanie said. “Well, you won that round, bubba,” She said, kissing her son’s knee where it sat on her right shoulder and continuing her route to the apartment. They went inside, and she turned on cartoons for James while she unloaded the groceries into the refrigerator and the pantry. She went through her stash of recipe books and pulled out a neat binder with page protectors, each page detailed a family recipe written in her elegant print. She flipped to  _ Winifred Barnes’ Matzo Ball Soup, serves 6 _ . She would have to run to the store again if she wanted to make it, so not tonight, but tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, thanks again for waiting. As always I appreciate your feedback!


	17. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone for your beautiful responses, especially to the last chapter! I appreciate you, and your support encourages me to keep up with this because I love interacting with all of you.

The soldier knew he made a mistake when he waved at his son, but who could blame him for being shocked, scared, and  _ curious _ about the boy? He distinctly recognized in the back of his mind when he watched children and their parents that there was longing. And he remembered being told by a doctor in a low voice that there was something wrong with Stephanie. That she couldn’t get pregnant, she couldn’t have kids, and if they tried, she could die. So children then violated the mission objective. He had been devastated. But she changed, the serum, for better or worse, made her healthier. He didn’t think they realized as they were fighting a war at the time, and there were other considerations. She got pregnant. And now they had a son. And he was curious.

She had taken the boy out to the local grocery store. She used reusable bags whenever she went to the store, they had impressionist paintings on them. The soldier remembered that she liked those sorts of pictures. The feeling that memory gave him was warm and distant, and an echo of something that was once good and the loneliness that it was no longer there. She walked to the store with their son on her hip. She walked from the store with him on her shoulders, his hands tangled into and holding her hair. She was playing some game with him, having him look around his surroundings and she would try to guess what he was looking at. It sent another empty memory rattling in the back of his mind, of long treks through the woods in the cold, shivering as he pushed through the snow beside her, the Howling Commandos playing the same game to pass the time. It wasn’t a war game; it was a child’s game they were using during the war. Now, she was using it with their child.

The boy liked to look at things that moved, usually. He looked at people passing on the street, cars, trucks, birds. The soldier was standing perfectly still as he watched them walk up Union Street. He wasn’t necessarily hidden, but nobody was peering up into the rooftops, and he wouldn’t draw their eye with his lack of motion. At least, that was what he thought. While peering around for something to quiz his mother on, his son looked right at him. The soldier moved thoughtlessly, raising his hand - his metal one, no doubt - and waving gently. It wasn’t until the Captain started looking up that the soldier realized he had been made. He ducked out of the way, hopefully in time.

He expected the worst. He expected the police, the Avengers. He expected her to draw the curtains, or for a car to come and whisk her away to safety.

Nothing happened. 

He watched her unpack the groceries, pull out some recipe books, and start making dinner. She ate with her son. Then she went back to the kitchen to clean up and start baking while he watched television. She took a jar of something out of her fridge and added it to a bowl of water. She added flour and salt and kneaded the resulting dough until satisfied, putting a wet towel over it and putting it in the fridge overnight. She returned her attention to their son as she wrestled him into the bathtub. Once he was clean, he decided to streak around the house for a few minutes while naked, and she entertained him, pretending not to have the agility to leap over the sectional in the living room and drag him off to bed. He eventually tired out, and let her take him up to bed. She walked through the living room, turning off lights, and then she went to bed. This was when he changed his position, moving around the block to his second location, which gave him a narrow view of the back end of the house. She changed clothes in the bathroom and read for half an hour before tucking a bookmark in the thick textbook, turning off the bedside lamp, and going to sleep. Once she was breathing deep, languid, and even, he checked the perimeter of the block twice before settling back at his rear-view watchpoint and pulling out the laptop. He had managed to hack into the WiFi two floors down a few days ago, and sitting on the roof with a computer passed the time well. Every half an hour, he did a visual perimeter check, and every three hours, he did a complete inspection of the block. He made sure to keep his mission report full of small, detailed notes about her habits, her security, and everything.

If she knew he was watching, and at this point she probably did, she wasn’t planning on changing anything.

In the morning, she woke up to do exercise in clothes that clung to her body in a frankly obscene way. She would stand on the mat, and then move through a variety of stretches and poses, pushing herself with both the deepness of the motion and the speed of it. She stood on her hands, no support, and held that position for five minutes until her abdomen was trembling so much that she could no longer keep it. She twisted her feet over her shoulders and spread her legs into a complete split before leaning and stretching those same muscles even further. He remembered when he blocked her front kick, and her leg landed on his shoulder. Now he understood how she managed to gracefully twist off of his body with one extended leg and knee him in the face in the process. It was impressive. He always felt a little strange when he watched her do those exercises, his mind supplying memories of how her toned body rippled atop and beneath him as they fought. Usually knowing that he had tried to hurt her filled him with guilt, but sometimes the combination of those tactile memories and the sight of her glistening, sweat-soaked skin made his skin itch and burn in a way that was not wholly unpleasant.

After her hour of a workout, she went to the bathroom to clean off. She made breakfast, packed up everything she would need for the day, ironed her work clothes before slipping into them, and headed to the subway with their son in tow, taking him to work. He knew she was safe at work, and she was safe on her route, meaning that he would have a few hours of reprieve before he was back on his monitoring responsibilities.

She knew he was watching, and she didn’t care. He found himself feeling quite pleased about that.

He found that he could take one or two twenty-minute naps throughout the day. Short enough that he wouldn’t experience something, but long enough that he was able to keep alert. When he did sleep, it was also during the day in one of his vantage points. Never for more than three hours. Three hours seemed to be his limit before he was woken up with a sharp, unpleasant memory, sweat on his brow, tremors in his hands, and a chill that sunk to his bones. When he did need supplies, he would go to a different store than the one she went to. He would get MREs that were still easy to digest, and he let them satisfy the constant, gnawing ache in his stomach. He was trying to ignore it, he had enough sustenance and wasn’t starving, although his clothes were noticeably looser on his frame then when he first put them on in that abandoned apartment in D.C. They were also dirtier, far more worn, and had a constant stench of sweat. He had money, but eating was more important, and he hadn’t a chance to clean himself off since the Potomac. But again, that was secondary to everything else.

Stephanie returned from work at her usual time and immediately went back to the store with James, needing something for a recipe. He stayed out of sight this time as they made their way to and back. Satisfied that their child was occupied with the television, his toys, and his art supplies, she got to work on dinner a few hours earlier than usual. She took a huge knife out of her block and a wrapped piece of meat in butcher paper out of her bag. The contents were two chickens. She slowly and carefully started deboning and preparing the meat. She placed them in a large pot with water and let them simmer to a broth, scraping off the fat and saving it in a bowl. She chopped vegetables while the pot simmered. Once satisfied, she split the chicken broth and started adding the cutting board's contents to the mixture, setting the cookware on a back burner while she turned to the rest of the meal. She cracked eggs into her separated fat and broth, adding spices liberally to the mixture, then she mixed in some flour or meal and let that dough chill as well. She took the bowl of dough she started working on last night and started shaping it into a round and leaving it to continue to prove on the dining table. She checked in on their son, talked to someone on the phone, and then turned her attention back to the dough on the table, finally putting it in the oven. She waited another hour before turning back to the mixture in the refrigerator and pulling out a second pot. She took the rounds of chilled dough and cooked them in the pot. Once she was satisfied, she added them to the simmering soup on the back burner. The bread came out of the oven, fresh, and he knew based on how eagerly the child ate and went for a second, helping that the meal was well-cooked.

The night went as usual. It wasn’t a bathing night for James, so she watched television with him for a while longer on the couch and did some work on her laptop. Once she was done, she settled him into bed. He expected her to do her next walk-through, but she returned to the kitchen. She pulled plastic containers with red lids out of the cupboard and started filling them with generous helpings of the soup. He had seen her do this before, conserving leftover food in the freezer. However, that didn’t seem to her intention. She found a plastic box in the pantry and placed the red-lidded containers, a spoon, and the rest of the bread wrapped in a clean towel in the box. Then she went to the window, opened it, and set the cooler on the fire escape outside. She cleaned up, turned off the lights, and went to bed.

He didn’t understand for an embarrassingly long amount of time why she set the box on the fire escape. It took two full minutes for him to realize  _ it was a supply drop _ . She knew he was watching, and she intentionally left supplies, dinner, out on the fire escape for him to take. He still watched her as she went to her nightly routine, and once he was painfully sure that she was asleep, he crossed the gap between the buildings and slipped around the fire escape to the platform in front of her dining room window. He hadn’t been this close before in ages, and he was worried that some silent alarm would trip, but nothing. He opened the plastic box, and the smell hit him and went straight to his stomach, which was twisting and aching with emptiness. There was a note on top of the food, written on a fluorescent pink piece of paper, a short message:  _ Eat as much as you want! Love, Stephanie _ .

He packed the containers, the spoon, the bread, and the note into his bag and went back to his vantage point so he could keep an eye on her and their son as she slept. He fell to his knees and pulled out the small plastic containers, guzzling the still-warm soup with the spoon. There were seven containers of soup, and he ate all of them before they went cold in the night’s air. He ate the bread too, sharp and tangy in his mouth.

It was the first time since HYDRA that he had felt full. It was a blissful feeling, the ache in his stomach completely sated until it ached in a far more pleasant way. He felt slower than usual, but not in the cloudy way that the HYDRA drugs had made him. He was just relaxed. His body no longer needed to worry about sustenance, for a few more hours at least, and he could relax.

He still checked the perimeter. He always kept himself awake, so he knew they were secure. But he did it with much less anxiety than he was used to.

On his last perimeter check, before she would wake up, he slipped the empty containers, the spoon, and the note back into the box.

_ Thank you, _ he printed neatly on the pink paper with one of his pens. He was on the rooftop and hidden from Stephanie's line of sight before he could decide it was a bad idea. She would know he had eaten the food, and there was no going back, it wouldn’t hurt to be polite.

That morning, when she woke up, she kicked out of bed quickly, and instead of changing into her skintight clothes, she hurried over to the window and checked the plastic box. She was still for a few moments when she saw it was empty, and then she sunk against the window in the same relaxed way that he had seen her fall into bed after a busy day. She was pleased. That made him pleased. She picked up the note, skimmed it, and then her face lit up with the same bright, sincere smile she reserved for their son.

“You’re welcome!” She called into the morning air, not caring if it would annoy another resident of Union Street. She was bright and energetic all morning, making it to seven minutes on her hands with her feet in the air. She danced around the kitchen and was probably singing as she made breakfast for herself and their son. Once she finished eating, she packed the leftover oatmeal with fruit into another red-lidded container and left it in the box with a clean spoon. She put on her neat work clothes, scooped up their son, and went to work. Once he was sure she was gone, he went back to the box and ate right there on the fire escape. He had started to feel the ache slowly return, and being able to quench that as soon as it began instead of letting it grow into a throbbing emptiness below his chest kept him in a good mood. He managed three naps that afternoon.

It became integrated into her ritual immediately. Dinner and breakfast, she always cooked him a serving and left it in the box. Sometimes, a small note would accompany it. A simple question. No orders since the first note, which felt like permission more than a directive.

_ Do you need more food? _ She had asked first.

_ I’m fine, _ he wrote back. The ache in his stomach was only noticeable right before the next meal. 

_ Do you need other supplies _ ? She asked again.

He had all the necessities, so he wrote back, neatly,  _ No _ .

When she read that response, he watched her purse her lips, clearly not satisfied with that answer for some reason. The next note was similar but different.

_ Do you want other supplies _ ? She asked.

_ Clothes _ He responded hesitantly.

The next day, there was a pair of soft denim trousers, a soft cotton shirt, a thick fleece hooded jacket, a denim jacket, a package of underwear, and a package of socks waiting along with dinner. He changed in a public restroom, discarding the old clothes in a dumpster. 

That was their point of contact, the plastic box. Stephanie would give him supplies if he needed them, not that he ever needed them beyond food and that one set of clothes, and he would respond to her short messages.

After eleven days of contact, her messages were no longer necessary information. There was a small drawing of the lake in Prospect Park, the view from picnicking on the banks as many couples do. The next sketch of hers was a small living room he remembered living in for years, the beat-up couch and the rickety card table they ate off of before her job at Stark Industries gave them just enough money to get proper furniture that wasn’t clearly used. It was only slightly used. Not all of her sketches were triggers, either. Some were of her views out the windows, the lamp on her nightstand, a caricature her doorman. All of these drawings, he kept, laying them neatly within the pages of his notebook alongside his observations that day for the mission report.

On the weekends, she would sometimes go out with friends. He knew Stephanie was safe when she was around someone who was also part of the mission objective. Once every two weeks, she and Sharon Carter (their son was either joining her to meet Carter or was being protected by Stark and Potts) would have brunch together and then take a train down to Washington D.C. to visit Sharon’s aunt, Peggy Carter. At such a time when he knew she was safe, and someone else was fulfilling the mission objective, he would take a walk. His fears of having to dissuade her were starting to be mollified. She was allowing him to set a distance between them that he was comfortable with, and he didn’t feel like he was a danger to her at the moment. Of course, there was always the underlying fear that would change.

On the tenth of March, a Monday, Stephanie baked a cake and included half of it in the plastic bin as well as a thick beef stew. 

_ Happy Birthday _ the note read.

Was today his birthday?

He remembered from his online research that his date of birth was March 10, 1917. Today was March 10, 2014. He was now ninety-seven years old. There was something strangely amusing about that; he thought as he worked his way through the stew. He turned to the cake, which was thick, moist, and rich chocolate. If he had tried to eat something like that a month ago, he would have thrown up, but Stephanie had been keeping him well fed. He was grateful. The plastic bin had the best resource drops that he had ever received. No weapons. No files. No faces. Just food, clean clothes every two weeks, and messages on pink squares.

 

* * *

 

 

In late March, Stephanie traveled. She told him she would be on a business trip for a few days, and if he would be able to eat while she was gone. He had enough money now that he was no longer focused on rationing that he could afford to keep full while she was gone. She and their son went on this trip with Rosenthal, Romanoff, Stark, and Potts, so he wasn’t concerned for her safety.  He did keep tabs on her through the internet with his torrented wireless connection. Her trip was to France, for some scientific summit. Stark Industries was offering grants and looking for possible scientists to hire onto the company. Romanoff and Rosenthal were invited because Stark, Potts, and Stephanie stayed two extra days after the summit ended with celebrating Stark’s forty-fourth birthday. The soldier hoped that Stephanie used her free time to see the Louvre. He distinctly remembered her disappointment at how much the Nazis had stolen the last time they were in Paris, in 1944. She liked art museums.

She came back and fell back into her routine. The Soldier - He - Bucky monitored her and made sure she was safe when someone who shared the mission objective wasn't supervising her. She gave him the resources he needed to complete the mission, and never asked for a mission report or mission update.

When she was at work, he tried to become more adventurous again, taking walks through Prospect Park or just walking down the street and getting familiarity with the area. He was up to five naps a day now, and sleep for about three hours twice a week. He knew that he was still sleeping a lot less than he should, but whenever he closed his eyes for more than half an hour, he was violently reminded why he liked to keep them open.

When he entered the Brooklyn library, he immediately regretted not visiting the place sooner. Not only was free wireless there, but there were also free books, and by nature of the location, everything was quiet, stale, and inoffensive. When he wasn’t researching random things either on the internet or in the library, he was reading novels or napping in a quiet nook, hidden by rows of old shelves that creaked with their heavy contents. Reading was good. It allowed him to learn things, not just jog his memory, but develop new ones. Everything was fascinating in some way, whether it be nineteenth-century history, chemical engineering, astronomy, or the finer aspects of neo-gothic architecture.

The mission was going well. Stephanie kept her distance to his terms. He had a ritual and was, for the first time in a long time, stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know for the longest time this chapter count has been on twenty-eight, but after seeing your responses to some of these past few chapters, it might turn into a twenty-nine. I have an epilogue in mind if you all would be interested in that, it would be a 5+1 of sorts about James. Let me know what you think?
> 
> Also, I adore the next chapter, but it's not short, and so I may need two weeks between this update and that one, I guess we'll see.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I appreciate your feedback in whatever forms you're most comfortable with, and I especially adore talking to you all in the comment section. Thank you - until the next chapter!


	18. Deviation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience waiting for this next update! I hope you enjoy it!

 

Stephanie returned to the apartment that Friday evening without James, and the soldier knew something was wrong immediately. She was physically fine, but she was clearly nervous based on her body language and how she fumbled her way into the apartment. She packed a bag, and she set off into Brooklyn, determined. She was alone, and so he followed. He was tracking her with ease along the sixth avenue when suddenly, she was gone. A crowd had broken his line of sight, and by the time they passed. She was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, he went down to the ground level and checked the area. That’s when he saw it, a chain-link fence and a gap between the two brownstone buildings so narrow he hadn’t seen it from the rooftop. The fence was locked, but she could have launched over it with ease if she so chose. He did the same, clearing the fence and following down the alleyway, which opened into the private backyard areas of all the buildings facing out onto the sixth avenue, Twelfth street, or eleventh street. Now, where did she go? The fire escape for a five-story building was lowered. He climbed up it. He saw her just as she leaped off the roof of the building, clearing the eleventh avenue and rolling on a rooftop on the other side of the street. He followed her, making the same leap, although he didn’t land as lithely. 

 

She made her way across the rooftops of the buildings facing the eleventh street. When she reached the edge of the row of buildings, she cleared Fifth avenue, rolled on the roof across the street, and vanished in the thick border of trees around a small park. He made the same maneuver. When he broke through the treeline, he found himself in a perfectly pleasant park. The lamps had flickered on as dusk was drawing the sky into a dark blue overhead, and the park seemed empty. The only people he could see were a couple sitting on a bench. But as his eyes scanned them, he realized that they weren’t alive, they were statues. He drew closer, recognizing the military uniforms first, then the disk, and then Stephanie’s face, and then his face. He just gaped at the statue. They were sitting together, having shed the military dress code for comfort in a variety of ways. They were intimate, but looking up at the sky in peace.

 

“It threw me too when I first saw it,” Stephanie’s voice said from behind him. She stepped to his side. She had snuck upon him, he realized. Or rather, her voice did. He had no way of knowing for sure. She could be in disguise, with a mask, she could have a voice regulator. He could try to posit a question to confirm her identity, but their past was publicly available, and he had little new information he could ask her. Especially because, if he hadn’t realized why she was changing her behavior, maybe he had missed other things. Perhaps they had both been under surveillance. There was one way to confirm her identity, and that was to establish something that HYDRA couldn’t fake. Her strength.

 

He knocked her to the ground, and she immediately retaliated. With speed and power, she flipped them through the air as they both tumbled backward, so he landed on his back, and she landed on his chest, her hands pinning his to the grass. He struggled, but she restrained him with ease. He relaxed, satisfied.

 

“What was that for?” She asked.

 

“I had to make sure it was you,” He replied.

 

“So, you wanted me to pin you?”

 

“I guess.”

 

She looked amused and relieved, but she didn’t get off of him. Her eyes roamed his face and his body, lingering on his eyes. He definitely felt exposed, but not necessarily uncomfortable.

 

“Are you going to get off of me?” He asked.

 

She startled like she forgot for a moment he was there, even though she was staring at him. She picked herself off of him, smiling sheepishly. He couldn’t see much in the dim light, but he was pretty sure her face was flushed a delicate shade of pink. 

 

“Why did you run?” He asked.

 

“So you’d follow,” She replied.

 

“Why did you want me to follow?”

 

“So, we’d end up here and chat.”

 

“Why not just tell me to follow you so we could talk?”

 

“Because you’d overthink it.” She slipped the heavy bag off from around her shoulders. It was a duffel with wheels and a handle in case someone wanted to roll it. “Here.” She set it at his feet.

 

“What is this?” He asked.

 

“Supplies,” She said. “Things you weren’t asking for but probably still needed. I wanted to see you. You’ve been seeing me, and… I guess I was just a little selfish.” She selfishly had just given him a bag stuffed with supplies. He took it. “So, I’m going to go to a diner on 9th and 5th, not too far from here. And if you want to come with you can. And if you want to go back to following me around, you can. And if you want to leave, you can.”

 

“Wait,” He said. He motioned to the statue. “What is that?”

 

“A memorial,” She said. “It was made after we were declared dead. People liked the idea that we were happy and together in the afterlife.”

 

“Instead of traumatized and frozen in reality?” He asked.

 

“Something like that,” She said. “I knew you’d hate it. I hate it. But, uh, it definitely draws the eye.”

 

“Why is it still up if everyone knows we’re not dead?” he asked.

 

“It’s a historical landmark that’s been here since 1946,” She said. “Toni tried to have it replaced, but the historical society pitched a fit. The rest of the park is nice enough, even with the statue.”

 

He glanced around the park. It was fine.

 

“We used to live here,” She said. “They knocked down the building a while ago. But I think, three stories up, it was here.” She found a spot in the grass. “Where the front door was.” She looked and him meaningfully. It was probably a trigger of some sort, but it fell flat on him. She seemed to notice, even though she wasn’t obviously discouraged.

 

“Anyway.” She said. “I’m going to eat.”

 

She started walking.

 

He followed her.

 

He caught up and walked alongside her.

 

They walked in silence the entire way, but it wasn’t a tense silence. He knew he was safe. She certainly seemed comfortable. There just wasn’t anything that needed to be said. He held the door open for her when they reached the diner. It was squashed between a smoke shop and a pharmacy, the menu printed on the front window. A neon sign insisted it was a 24-hour facility, and there was a painting of an eagle on the door.

 

“Steph!” A bright voice said the woman with an apron behind the counter greeted Stephanie convivially.

 

“Hi, Sunny,” She said. She went over to the woman and spoke to her in a calm, soft voice. The woman nodded with understanding, her eyes flicking to him only twice.

 

“Anywhere you wanna sit?” Stephanie asked after Sunny left for the kitchen. He picked the table in the corner, where he had a perfect view of the room and the outside. Stephanie sat down. “I told Sunny you’re a veteran and you're dealing with some things,” She said casually. “No details, but she’ll keep her distance if you need it.”

 

“Thank you,” He said.

 

She checked the laminated menu on the table in front of her, “Any idea what you want to eat?”

 

“No,” He said.

 

“Want to get a little bit of everything?” She asked.

 

“Can we do that?” He asked, trying not to sound eager.

 

“Yeah,” She said. “Do you want Sunny to come over, or would you prefer I go tell her?”

 

His eyes flicked to Sunny. She seemed like a pleasant woman, but he did feel very insecure, sitting in an unfamiliar place, doing a strange thing. He didn’t even have to open his mouth, Stephanie recognized his body language and the flick of his eyes, and got up to tell Sunny what they wanted. When the first plate was ready, Sunny called Stephanie over and Stephanie brought it to the table. He insisted always trying some of it first, both to make sure it wasn’t contaminated with something and because he just wanted to taste everything. They worked their way through the breakfast menu, with five different omelets, pancakes, waffles, french toast, and breakfast burritos. Then, they split fifteen sandwiches, four wraps, six burgers, and eight plates of pasta. There were seven types of fries, baked potatoes, and chili as well. And a milkshake. It took them three hours of silent eating.

 

“Do you usually eat that much?” He finally asked when they left the diner three hours later.

 

“No,” Stephanie said. “But the food is good, and binging now and then is nice.” They continued to walk. “Also, you’ve lost a lot of weight, and I wanted to make sure you’re getting well-fed.”

 

“You’re feeding me,” He puzzled at her.

 

She paused, “Is that all you eat?”

 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he said.

 

“You need to eat more,” She said. “The serum, it metabolizes everything quickly, but it diminishes things like pain. When you start to feel hungry, you’re starting to starve. Do you need money? I can get you-”

 

“It’s fine,” He said. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

They walked together in silence.

 

“Anything else you want to know?” She asked.

 

Questions were rattling in his head. Why was she so insistent on spending time with him when it clearly violated the mission objective? What were her protocols? And how could he activate her triggers to help him remember what he had lost? None of those questions he asked. He just shook his head. She gave him a wavering glance.

 

“When was the last time you took a shower?” She asked, her words were weightless in their intonation, but based on the glance from the corner of her eye, she was keen on his answer. He didn’t answer. She whistled, “That long, huh? If you want to come inside-”

 

“No,” He said quickly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He added.

 

She nodded, “What about a motel? Something cheap and quick. Maybe you could even sleep with a roof over your head instead of under your feet for once.”

 

He considered it for a very long time. He knew it was a bad idea. He also knew it was something he needed, and something she wanted to give him. She was his handler. She probably knew what was best for him. He nodded in deference.

 

The hotel she took him to was not far from the diner, located on the corner of thirteenth and third. She spoke to the woman at the front desk quickly and precisely, with a smile, and they had the cards to the room in moments. The room was fine: There were a door and a window; the window had both heavy blackout curtains and gauzy paper-thin curtains; there was a desk, a chair, and a television. There was one bed, it was a large bed, with a lamp on either nightstand. The wall behind it was painted dark blue, the rest of the walls were white, and the art was abstract, with blues and yellows. The bathroom had a vanity, a large mirror surrounded in white light, a toilet, and a bath/shower combination. He checked the entire room. It was fine. He set the duffel and his backpack on the desk and awkwardly sat on the edge of the chair.

 

“I can go,” Stephanie said. His eyes snapped up to her. “If you want me to.”

 

“You can stay,” He said hurriedly. She smiled and nodded. “You can… come in.”

 

She stepped further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed with him. The emptiness between them hung heavy.

 

“Shower,” He echoed.

 

“I got you some stuff, in the bag,” She said. 

 

He stood up and investigated.

 

“It’s not much,” She continued. “Just some toiletries and things. I wasn’t sure what your preference was on hair products, but I know it took me a while to get used to how fragrant everything is nowadays. Especially with the enhanced nose. So I found some fragrant-free stuff. Well, it still smells, it’s just not artificially scented. It kind of just smells vaguely of chamomile and coconut.” As she rambled, he looked at the two spherical plastic containers with bright orange caps. A bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner. It was very thoughtful of her. He knew this was one of the reasons why she was his favorite handler.

 

“What else?” He asked. He found the objects as she said them as if she memorized her packing order.

 

“Unscented bar soap, a proper first aid kit, deodorant, shaving cream-”

 

“They still sell barbasol?” He asked, looking at the can. He remembered he used the same stuff back in the thirties. “Seventy years later, and you can still get a barbasol face.” He felt amused, whimsical. For one of the first times that he could remember, thinking about the past made him feel light.

 

“Apparently popular faces are still shaved with barbasol,” Stephanie said, smiling. He didn’t want to look away from her when she was smiling. “It’s shaving cream as old as we are,” Stephanie said.

 

“So, you got cream, you got a razor then?” He asked.

 

“And some refill heads,” She nodded. “I wasn’t sure. You used to like to keep a close shave. Of course, it that changed-”

 

“You trust me with a razor?” he asked. He turned to look at her - She had an eyebrow cocked, challenging him - He kept her eye contact. There was something playful about the exchange.

 

“You couldn’t scratch me with a tac knife, you think I’m afraid of a goddamn safety razor?” She asked.

 

He felt the corners of his lips tugging up because she was right. While he didn’t want to hurt her, the thought of him being a threat with five narrow blades attached to a rubber handle was amusing.

 

“Aftershave,” She said. He turned back to the supplies, “Wooden pocket comb, hairbrush, reusable water bottle, an emergency kit, a sleeping bag, trash bags, toilet paper, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and clothes.”

 

“Clothes?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” She said. “Want me to tell you those too?”

 

“Please,” He said, for no reason beyond the fact that she liked her voice when she debriefed his supplies.

 

“Some sweatpants, thermal gear, long and short-sleeved shirts, packages of underpants, tanks, and socks, a few hoodies, a handful of button-downs, jeans in a few different fits, and two sweaters,” She listed. “And some laundry supplies. Because I’m pretty sure you’re just throwing clothes away instead of, you know, cleaning them.”

 

He reached the very last thing in the bag. A plastic container. Inside was cash. A lot of it.

 

“In case you needed it,” She said.

 

“How much-”

 

“Eighty thousand?” She guessed. “I felt crazy taking it out, I had to do a bunch of paperwork. I always feel crazy about money. And having it. But, uh, you know there was a lot of back pay.  And Toni pays me too well.” She folded her hands in her lap and pressed her feet into the ground. “You need it more than I do.”

 

“To do what?”

 

She shrugged, “Your choice.” He stared at her for a long while, pondering what she meant. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you going to take a shower?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You need help?”

 

“I’m ninety-seven, not invalid,” He replied.

 

“Plenty of people our age need sponge baths,” She informed him as if they had this conversation regularly, even though he knew they hadn’t. Perhaps, it was this type of discussion which was so familiar. There was something else that was familiar with this.

 

“That an offer?” He asked her.

 

She gave him half a smile and shrugged, “If you want it to be.”

 

He grabbed some clothes from the bag and the shower supplies and headed to the bathroom. He turned the spray onto hot and waited for it to warm up.

 

“Mind if I turn the T.V. on?” Stephanie called from the bed.

 

“No,” He said.

 

From the other room, muffled audio started playing. He read the directions on all of the toiletries Stephanie provided for good measure. He closed the door, stripped out of his clothes, unclasped the chain with the wedding rings that hung around his neck, and stepped into the spray. It was sharp and hot on his skin, which turned pink, but it was the complete opposite of the cold showers with a hose he remembered from HYDRA. He poured a blob of the shampoo into the palm of his hand and worked it into his hair. The water as it swirled around his feet was grey and brown. He did a second blob of shampoo until the suds were clear. He added a blob of conditioner and worked that in. As he waited for it to hold, he scrubbed his skin with the bar until it was clear. He spent extra care on his arm, making sure the water flooded through the slits in the plates and dislodged any dirt or grease. He rinsed out his hair and his body, stood in the hot spray for a few minutes longer, and then finally shut the shower off and dried himself on one of the plush towels. He pulled on the soft sweatpants, threw the towel around his shoulders, and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer, halfway between his jaw and his shoulders. The beard was patchy, rough, and mangled. It was unsalvageable as far as facial hair went. He looked at the shaving cream and razor sitting on the vanity. He knew he should probably shave his face, but every time he picked up the razor, he saw blades, and his hands trembled.

 

He stepped out of the bathroom. Stephanie glanced up at him, and her eyes bugged out of her head. She stared at his shoulder, his chest, his torso, and then she looked away like she was doing something wrong. At first, he was concerned he had done something wrong, or that she was experiencing discomfort from his scars. Then he noticed how her cheeks, the tips of her ears, and the back of her neck were all flushed scarlet. She was experiencing a different type of discomfort. He started to feel warm, as well.

 

“Can you help me shave?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” She said after a moment. She glanced at him, staring at his face pointedly, and he bobbed his head toward the bathroom. She unfolded herself from the edge of the bed. He sat on the top of the toilet, the razor and shaving cream sitting beside him on the vanity.

 

“You need to trim it first,” she said gently. She disappeared and returned with a blunt pair of scissors from the first aid kit she provided. He leaned his face forward. Delicately, her hands skimmed along his jawline as she trimmed pieces off the beard. The brown, coarse, matted hair floated to the ground at his feet. Once she was satisfied with his, albeit patchy, trimmed beard. She turned to the shaving cream and the razor. She distributed the cream onto one hand and then onto his face and along his neck. Her motions were confident, delicate, telegraphed, and unthreatening. She rinsed her hands in the sink and turned to the razor. She held it in her right hand, and in firm and precise strokes, she dragged the blade along the side of his face. She wiped it clean on the edge of the towel around his neck and then made for the second stroke. When she needed him to move, she adjusted him gently, a finger beneath his chin or along his jaw. She pressed closer, standing between his legs, which he spread to give her room. She stood above him and looked down with fondness and care. He watched her face as she worked, a line between her brow as it was furrowed in concentration. While she worked around the corner of his jaw and the edge of his neck, she bit her lip to make sure that she slipped the razor over his skin without causing even the most insignificant nick.

 

“There,” She said finally. “Done.”

 

He turned his head and looked at himself in the mirror. A face that looked more like the one in the history books stared back at him.

 

“Thank you,” He said.

 

“Anytime,” She replied.

 

It was strange in his mind how wildly different she was from his past experiences being groomed. Or at least, the experiences he remembered under HYDRA. Not only did she clearly care, not only was his safety and comfort one of her goals, but there was something else. The same intimacy when she nuzzled her face into his chest as he carried her off Helicarrier Charlie. The same intimacy he saw on the newsreels as they planned a route pressed side-to-side. It was the nature of their procedures and protocols, their relationship, and them. Her presence assured him of safety, and her touch sent his skin alight.

 

“If I were you, I would get some rest,” Stephanie said. It wasn’t an order, but it was guidance. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No,” He said. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted from her, but he felt better the closer he was to her. “Can you sleep here tonight?”

 

“I can,” She said.

 

“What about the boy?” He asked. “Where is he?”

 

“James?” She asked. He nodded. “His daycare is throwing a weekend sleepover event. They’re going to watch Disney movies and eat popcorn until Sunday afternoon. There’s a big camping getaway upstate for the staff at Stark Industries, which is why the daycare is offering.”

 

“Why are you here, then?”

 

“Not a fan of camping,” She shrugged. “Did plenty of it in the war. Got my fill. I like centralized heating.”

 

“Is James… my son?” He asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.

 

“Yes,” She nodded. “I was pregnant when I went into the ice. I had no idea.”

 

“You did it by yourself,” He said. “Just like your mother.”

 

“My mother?”

 

“Sarah Rogers.”

 

She looked at him with a hopeful expression. Then she shook her head, “I wasn’t all by myself. I had friends and family, Becca was there for me.”

 

“Becca?” He asked. The name was familiar, but it was distant.

 

Her expression faltered, “You don’t remember your sisters?”

 

He remembered that he had sisters. Three little girls with wide eyes and dark hair. “Not very well.”

 

Stephanie nodded in understanding, “Becca was the oldest, three years your junior. Then Joanna by six years. Then Hannah, by ten years.”

 

“And they’re all still alive?” He asked.

 

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “They’ve been worried about you.”

 

He stared at her blankly, not really sure what he would do with that information. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

She nodded, “No problem. So… you want me to stay the night?”

 

“If… you can,” He said.

 

“I can,” She said. He nodded. “Mind if I borrow one of your shirts to sleep in?”

 

He shrugged, “You bought them.”

 

As he combed his hair was watched the television, she changed in the bathroom. The shirt she had decided to wear was large enough that it draped off her body and around her thighs. She slipped into the bed on one edge. He was on the other. The bed was huge, and when they pushed to the two ends, there was plenty of space between them.

 

“I might have a nightmare,” He said. It was an underestimation. He would probably have a nightmare.

 

“Okay,” She said. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“Wake me up?” He suggested.

 

“Okay,” She said. “I’ll wake you up.”

 

She fell asleep before he did. He could hear her even breathing in the darkness. Three months ago, he had tried to kill her, and now she was sleeping beside him. It was daunting and flattering to have her confidence. He was tired, and he was full from all the food. His eyes stung, his eyelids were heavy, and he found himself drifting to sleep not long after Stephanie.

 

It wasn’t a nightmare at first. It was a memory. Stephanie was small, her hair piled on top of her head in neat curls, and she was wearing a pale green dress. They were in a dancing hall. They watched the dancers and listened to music while they sipped a watery beer. Then, she pulled him onto the floor with him. They spun and danced to the music, He threw her in the air and caught her, and she was laughing all the while. Then, it shifted. They were still dancing, but it was in London. The bar was crowded with the Howling Commandos. She was almost as tall as he was, and muscle everywhere beneath her uniform. She still spun with him and fit in his embrace like they were matching pieces of a puzzle. There was something bright and clear in her eyes that made his chest feel warm. Then they weren’t dancing. The look in her eye had shifted to terror. They were still close, but his left arm was heavy, and he was trying to put a knife in her. Instead of spinning with him, she was pushing him away, for her life. It shifted again, she was in her Captain America uniform. The fear in her eyes was devastation as she fought him off, as he tried to kill her.

 

“Bucky,” She said. “Bucky, Bucky,” She kept saying. “Bucky _wake up_.” She ordered. His eyes snapped open.

 

He wasn’t in a dance hall or a pub or a street or a helicarrier. He was in a hotel bed in Brooklyn. Stephanie wasn’t dancing with him or fighting him, she was sitting on his stomach, cradling her head in his hands and looking at him in the dim light from the lamp on her side of the bed.

 

“You’re safe,” She told him. He let out a sigh. But was she safe?

 

“I’m safe, too,” She said. He wasn’t sure if he had accidentally asked what was in his head, or if she just knew based on his expression.

 

“How long was I asleep?” He asked.

 

“Five hours,” She said.

 

He blinked up at her. _Five hours?_ His longest had only ever been three. It was like her very presence calmed him, so he looked up at her. Her golden hair fell in a curtain around her face. Her blue eyes looked into his, searching his expression, checking on him, caring for him. She was caring for him, that’s what she was doing. She was trying to fix him when there were better uses of her time. There were causes that she should focus on, not his broken mind.

 

“I’m not worth all this,” He croaked.

 

“You are,” She insisted.

 

“I killed people.”

 

“You didn’t have a choice.”

 

“I know. I still did it.”

 

She kept holding his head, angling her head toward his gently, so he wouldn’t avoid her gaze. “I don’t care.” She said. “Who or how many people you killed when HYDRA controlled you. You’re still worth everything to me. And I’m going to help you.”

 

“That’s a horrible responsibility,” He said.

 

“No,” She said. “Not to me.” When she looked at him, he felt like he was standing on a precipice. There was apprehension, curiosity, and the knowledge that there was a long plunge into the unknown ahead if he let himself take it. “Not when it’s you,” She said.

 

He was painfully aware of her now. Her gentle fingers against his cheeks, the curve of her body, and where she touched his stomach. He could feel the warmth through the thin fabric at the apex of her thighs where it pressed below his navel. And he could feel the heat of her long, toned legs as they straddled him. He could feel her skin against his skin, it was a febrile sensation, and it made him tremble. Her touch was intoxicating, sending heat through his veins and putting a haze in his head. Her blue eyes were still on his, flicking across his face, trying to decode his expression. His eyes wandered further to her pink lips, slightly parted, moving with her every inhale and exhale. He remembered when he ran his thumb against them, they were soft. He wanted to know if they were still soft. He wanted her to touch him everywhere she could. He wanted her everywhere, surrounding him and claiming him, making him forget every other touch but her own. He wanted to be bundled and molded into her until he was nothing but an extension of her. His hands were planted across the bed at his sides, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. She rolled up with him, sitting in his lap, her thighs still pressed around the muscles of his sides. He felt her muscles and his swell and shift to meet each other, so her legs and his body were making continuous contact. She wasn’t leaning away as much as she was moving with him, as if not to presume he was trying to draw closer to her. He kept his metallic left hand against the bed and ran his right one to her. She let him touch her. His hand cradled her neck through the sheet of her golden hair, fingers tangled in the strands as they curled around her nape. He leaned closer, his eyes landed on hers. Her eyes were wide and eager, her pupils were blown, only a sliver of blue left. He leaned closer, stopping before touching his lips to hers. He could feel the warm puffs of her breath against his lips, which were tingling in anticipation. He wasn’t sure if he should ask before closing the distance between them, or if he was doing something wrong. It seemed, the only mistake he made was his hesitation, and she quickly rectified that. She kissed him.

 

Her lips slotted over his firmly, and they were scalding, but instead of pain, there was a pleasure. He kissed her back with equal intensity. It was so indulgent, to let himself think about her and only her: her taste, her touch, her temperature. He lost his ability to discern exactly what was happening, most of it was his body moving of its own accord, a memory of kissing her built into his every cell. His fingers weren’t for triggers and twirling knives anymore, they were for touching her. There was a scrape of teeth and a pull of lips, he didn’t know who initiated, but soon his tongue was slipping against hers as she licked into his mouth, and when he did the same thing, she shivered when he brushed against her palette. He both wracked his mind and cataloged every sensation, overwhelmed but still forcing himself to feel and recognize more feelings, his head filling up with the rapturous bliss that was her. Stephanie's hands trailed down: From his jaw to his neck, to the juncture of his neck and shoulders, reaching his chest. One hand gripped his shoulder while the other delicately ran along the scarred seam between the flesh of his chest and the metal of his arm with the gentle pads of her index and middle fingers. He jolted under her touch, but it wasn’t a disagreeable sensation. It was startling and intense, but not painful. He kept his metal hand firmly on the bed, but he moved his right one. He untangled his fingers from her hair and uncupped the nape of her neck. His hand drifted down her back, and through the fabric of the shirt, he could feel the ridge of her shoulder blade and the dip of her spine. His hand slipped down over the curve of her lower back and the pliant, muscular flesh of her ass as he bridged between her back and her upper thigh. He pulled her leg up further, so she pressed closer into him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, the skin of their chests only separated by the thin cotton fabric that covered hers. He could feel where she was soft and pliant against him and where her body was budding with anticipation. He brought his hand back up her body, her neck, her jaw, and his fingers splayed across her cheekbone.

 

She hissed in pain and automatically shied away from his touch. 

 

The kiss was broken. 

 

He looked up at her, and saw in the dim light, the pink on her cheek he assumed was her being flushed was quickly turning into a mottled purple and blue. He hadn’t touched her hard enough to hurt her, but she had been injured recently. Then, he remembered that she woke him up while he was thrashing and fighting his way through a nightmare. He must have struck her. Whatever warm, pleasant feeling he had developed in his chest evaporated, replaced by a thick, slimy, and cold revulsion for what he had done.

 

“I’m fine, you didn’t mean it,” She said gently. “It’ll be gone in a few hours.”

 

“I hurt you.”

 

“I’m fine,” She repeated.

 

“I’m not,” He said. He tried to squirm away from her, and she understood. She backed away, sitting on the far end of the bed, still open, but giving him space. He hung his head and sighed. He had to do it. He had to tell her why this made no sense. “I don’t know what to do. You want me. And I want you. But it’s dangerous. I’m dangerous. And I can’t do what you want and also complete the mission objective.”

 

“The mission objective?” She echoed, suspicion, and question laced together in her voice.

 

“The first one,” He said. “The most important one. Back when I was young, when you first became my handler, it became my responsibility to protect you. That mission… it superseded HYDRA’s orders. It freed me. But to follow it, to protect you, I can’t be near you.”

 

“I didn’t give you that mission,” She said softly. His eyes snapped up to hers. Her expression was soft and somber. “You didn’t have a handler until HYDRA.”

 

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused. “I - I remember protecting you. It was my responsibility. Even as a child.”

 

She took a deep breath, “The day we met, I was eight. You were nine. I had a reputation for being a punk, getting picked on all the time. I didn’t like bullies, and even though nobody stood up for me, I stood up for everyone else, soon enough, nobody bothered trying anything with anybody but me. I was getting picked on, and you came. You were protecting me before I even knew who you were. Helping me because that was the kind of person you were, the kind of person you are. You know, you can say that maybe your mom told you to be good, and your rabbi talked about loving-kindness, or whatever, but nobody ordered you to protect me. And, I guess, if anybody gave you that mission, you did, Buck.” She said.

 

“But… handlers-”

 

“You were nine, you didn’t have a handler.” She said. “You weren’t an asset or a soldier, you were Bucky. Sure, your parents told you what to do because they were your parents. Teachers because they were teachers. But that was because you were a kid, not because you needed to be-” She was getting agitated, as if unable to aptly explain the way she wanted to. “We were friends, growing up. And we got close. And then we were more: Lovers, engaged, married. But the whole time, I wasn’t your handler. I was the boss of you just as much as you were the boss of me. We were partners, we supported each other, we did everything together, as equals. We promised to be equals and partners until the end of the line.”

 

“During the war-”

 

“Yeah, technically, I was your commanding officer. But, hell, that was mostly for paperwork and propaganda. _We_ led the Howlies, I was just a better strategist at the time, and you didn’t want to draw the attention away from me for the public because it was important to have a woman in the military like that at the time.”

 

“The mission, my mission-”

 

“I never gave it to you,” She said.

 

“But, I have one.” He said.

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I gave myself a mission?” He asked.

 

“Yeah, I…” she trailed off. “I guess.”

 

“I can do that?”

 

“You always could,” She said. “Look, if you want to do something, I’m not gonna stop you. If you want to protect me and you think leaving is the best way, I’m not gonna stop you.”

 

He stared at her, “I have no mission?”

 

“Whatever you do is your choice,” She said.

 

He was quiet for a very long time, “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I would try to be happy,” She said. He looked up at her blankly. She cocked her head to one side, “Do you know what makes you happy?”

 

“No,” He said.

 

She either wasn’t trying to hide her disappointment or she was doing so poorly. She looked down, then she looked back up, determination set on her face, “Then, maybe that’s a good place to start?” She suggested.

 

“To find what makes me happy?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” She nodded. “Do what you need to do. Go where you need to go. I’ll be here, in Brooklyn, and when you want to, if you want to, you can come home.” She stepped off the bed, “I’m gonna get changed and go back. You can do whatever you want to do.”

 

She left.

 

He stayed seated on the bed.

 

He could do anything.

 

He really was free.

 

Freedom was daunting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always, I appreciate your feedback.


	19. Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience. I appreciate it! This semester has been pretty difficult, so thank you for sticking with me and this project. As a token of my gratitude, I'm doing a double update today! So if the chapter after this isn't up yet, make sure to come back in a few hours so it will be!
> 
> Also, this is the chapter where things really kick off into Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. territory, so if you've not yet seen Seasons 1 and 2, beware of spoilers!

Stephanie was trying to keep some optimism after she made contact with Bucky. It could have gone a lot worse. He was alive, he had the supplies, Bucky hadn’t tried to hurt her, and he felt awful when he learned they did. That makeout session, in particular, would probably stay with her for a while. She still sometimes saw him when she closed her eyes. The image of him when he came out of the bathroom had been branded on her mind’s eye. There was the curve of his shoulders and the broadness of his chest. She had been entranced by the way his abdominal muscles glistened and rippled as he moved. She had seen the bulging at his back, and she admired the deep v of his hips that was exposed with just how low the sweatpant elastic held.

Beyond her sexual frustration, however, some things did not go as well as she hoped. He was clearly still traumatized (No shit). And then, he thought she was his handler and that he was still an operative on some mission. And then, he had no idea what made him happy. She told him to find it, or suggested, instead, and then she went home to cry and eat ice cream. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to deal with your husband’s mental illness, but she was also suffering a little.

He stopped visiting the fire escape. The food in the cooler went untouched. That was how Steph knew he left. However, she still kept leaving food out, just in case.

* * *

After Pierce’s death, the World Security Council was disbanded with three members dead and one HYDRA. In the following months, Rhodey’s task force and other government agencies worked their way through the United States Intelligence and Government, finding those loyal to HYDRA and locking them up for good. Many politicians weren’t faithful to HYDRA, but unwittingly helped or were friends with HYDRA agents. These politicians retired in droves, and the 2014 midterm election would suddenly include more replacements than anyone was expecting. The president had to reappoint two members of his cabinet, the Secretaries of State and Interior. Both of which resigned for their unintentional connections to HYDRA and the embarrassment of salvaging their reputations.

Three days after the Secretary of State retired in April, Stephanie got a call from the President. Matthew Ellis asked her if she would be interested in being his nominee for the Secretary of State.

“I’m not a politician, sir,” She said. “I’m honored to receive this call, but I have to decline.”

He said. “We owe you a debt, Captain, for your continued service to the United States.”

Stephanie smiled, “Thank you, sir, but I’ve never sought power.”

Stephanie reconsidered declining when the President did nominate his selection. General Thaddeus Ross. The man who had overseen the super soldier project that resulted in Bertie becoming the Hulk.

“He’s an asshole,” Bertie declared as she, Toni, Stephanie, and Pepper watched his confirmation hearing. “And a hardass. I was legitimately surprised he wasn’t HYDRA.”

“I thought I told the world _not_ to revert to fear and control,” Stephanie said. “I should’ve said yes.”

“No, you don’t have to constantly sacrifice yourself,” Toni said. “Sure, you’d be better than that asshole, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault you don’t want to.”

“He doesn’t get any oversight on the task force,” Pepper assured Bertie. “And you’re a private citizen who works with Stark Industries, which happens to consult for the Defense Department. He can’t do anything.”

“For now,” Bertie said.

 

HYDRA was now, mostly, out of the government. But it still had taken root in a lot of corporations and private companies. Rhodey’s taskforce had about fifty agents and consultants operating with it, including what was mostly the Avengers Initiative. Sam, Sharon, Nat, Claire, and Rhodey were the active operatives that had Stark Tower as a location of headquarters in New York. Toni, Bertie, and Stephanie also worked with them as consultants. Thordis helped now and again when there was a battle that needed an extra body. The rest of his task force was located in D.C. Even though Toni, Bertie, and Stephanie weren’t technically part of the task force’s administration, they were basically read in on everything along with the rest of the team.

“We’re going to send two operatives undercover,” Rhodey said. “Both former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Both very committed to the cause.” He pulled up their files. “Bobbi Morse and Jemma Simmons.”

“How do I know Morse?”

“She’s a friend,” Claire said. “She was my partner before Nat. We’ve invited her to some parties.”

“She’s a microbiologist as well as a master in martial arts and espionage,” Nat said. “One of the best spies I’ve met.”

“Yeah,” Sharon agreed.

“The other one is Jemma Simmons. She was level six, she was working on a mobile command unit with, um, some other agents-”

“You can talk about Coulson, they know,” Nat said. Indeed, it had come out in Toni’s database, human experimentation with alien specimens, to revert the effects of death. There were a lot of reasons why Stephanie disagreed with Fury. Coulson was now working for the task force, managing the D.C. office while Rhodey ran operations and liaison with The Avengers.

Rhodey sighed, “She worked with Coulson, proved her own when the HYDRA agent stationed in their team betrayed them. She’s never done any undercover field ops before, which is why we’re having Bobbi supervise her. Still, she’s the kind of scientist HYDRA likes.”

“Brilliant,” Bertie said from the back of the room. “I’m looking at her files. She’s a biochemist with basic medical training who’s become a xenobiologist by trade. Did you guys know the Chitauri brought disease?”

“The Chitauri brought disease?” Toni asked with horror.

“And she found a cure to an alien virus in a few hours while infected,” Bertie said. “She’s done surgery on an Asgardian.”

“Which is why HYDRA will like her,” Rhodey said. “And Morse will supervise her from afar at her position in lab security. Now, the other thing is that she won’t know she has an ally. She’s not familiar with undercover work, and being friendly with a security guard right out of the bat will tip-off HYDRA.”

“Sounds lonely, if she thinks she’s alone in HYDRA,” Stephanie said.

“Learning experience,” Nat shrugged.

“Where are they going?” Toni asked.

“HYDRA Laboratories,” Rhodey said. “Of course, that isn’t what they say on the lease. Officially, it’s Whitehall Enterprises, a STEM company trying to get defense contracts at the moment. They’re hiring scientists to think they’re working for a legit R&D department when they actually are doing work for HYDRA. If she moves far enough up the ladder and befriends the right people, we can get official documentation of their affiliation, and arrest them. Possibly, we can even get some of the higher-ups to flip on the orchestrators. HQ is in Dover, Delaware.”

“Is she going in as herself?” Sharon asked.

“Out-of-work S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist is the best cover, and she’s not a good liar,” Rhodey said. “That’s all on our undercover fronts right now. We’re getting chatter on some movement to find enhanced individuals for HYDRA purposes. Nothing worth mentioning so far except the fact that it’s happening. We do think we’ve picked up an object HYDRA is interested in, reclaimed by the SSR in 1945. Sharon is going to be checking Peggy Carter’s old SSR reports to see if she can find a link. We’re still trying to get permission for international ops with all of our Europe chatter, but that’ll take UN approval, and that’ll take Secretary of State approval.”

“Told you we’d deal with Ross sooner or later,” Bertie said cynically.

“He said he’ll approve it if he gets to talk to us,” Rhodey said. “He’ll be here this afternoon unless you guys want me to cancel.”

All eyes swiveled to Bertie. He was the man who put her on the run for years. If she said no, they’d say no. If she said yes, they’d say yes.

“It’s fine, I can play politics,” Bertie said.

“Thank you, Doctor Banner,” Rhodey said.

Three hours later, they were reassembled, waiting for Ross. Rhodey walked him into the conference room. His eyes immediately went to Bertie, who was sitting in the back, wedged between Toni and Stephanie, who were both ready to defend her if need be.

“Dr. Banner,” He said. “Good to see you again.”

“Right,” She said. “So you say.”

“Miss Stark, I believe we met once,” Ross said.

“We did,” Toni said. “You’re a sad drunk.”

“Captain Barnes, an honor.” He nodded. “I heard you turned down my job.”

She smiled her Captain America smile, “Congratulations.”

It seemed the rest of the room, Sharon, Nat, Claire, and Sam, were not worth his salutations. Maybe they had already met. However, he probably didn’t give them the same importance as he did the Hulk, Iron Maiden, and Captain America.

“So, would you three care to explain your role on the task force?”

“We’re unpaid consultants,” Toni said. “I offer tech support, equipment, and medical care for his main team. Dr. Banner assists me with a lot of development here at Stark Industries, so it seemed unfair not to include her.”

“But you do philanthropy, Captain, not lab work?” Ross asked.

“I’m very experienced with HYDRA,” She said. “My input is reportedly influential.”

“I also pick her brain for strategy now and again, especially on ops,” Rhodey said. “She was instrumental in the Nebraska raid.”

“And you’re not concerned about her loyalty?” Ross asked.

“I’m not concerned about Captain America’s loyalty?” Rhodey repeated questioningly. “Why should I be concerned?”

“Because she’s publicly campaigned for the pardoning of a HYDRA operative,” Ross said.

“Bucky Barnes was a prisoner of war and slave for HYDRA while operating as the Winter Soldier,” Stephanie said. “I’ve campaigned for the pardoning of a victim of a fascist terror organization.”

“Have you even read the dossier that you’ve been giving to every news station?” He asked.

“I memorized it,” She said.

“And you think that body count deserves a pardon? The killer of all those kids deserves a pardon?”

“How many kids did you kill in Vietnam?” She asked bluntly. The air in the room went very still.  “The kids who were shooting at you, and it wasn’t until you went close you saw the broken body you put a bullet in was twelve.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s very different. You enlisted to fight that war. My husband was brainwashed into his with electricity, drugs, hypnosis, psychological conditioning, rape, and torture.” Stephanie said. “Nobody wants to see HYDRA dead more than I do, and my husband isn’t going to change that. If anything, it incites it.”

“So, where is he, then?” Ross asked.

“I wish I knew,” Stephanie shrugged.

“Captain Barnes, again, is only a consultant. She’d never be in the field, and she doesn’t actually manage operations,” Rhodey said. “The rest of my team is here. Agents Carter, Romanoff, Barton, and Wilson.”

“Enhancements?”

“Romanoff has some biotech,” Rhodey said. “From Russia.”

“Nothing fancy,” Nat said. “Just slightly better senses, stamina, pain tolerance.”

“Barton uses a variety of prototype arrows designed by Stark. And Wilson pilots the Falcon prototype provided by Stark Industries,” Rhodey said. “And as you know, I also have the War Machine suit.”

“What does Carter do?” Ross asked.

“I like big guns,” Sharon said. He nodded, accepting that.

“If I tell the UN to let you have permission to do operations overseas, I’m going to be held accountable for any mistakes you make. I know stopping HYDRA is your first priority. Not embarrassing me is going to be your second. We clear, Colonel? Agents?”

“Yes, sir,” Colonel nodded. The rest of the room nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t want Dr. Banner leaving a secure facility unsupervised. If she’s not in Stark Tower, one of your people are on her,” He said. Bertie pursed her lips and glowered. “Thank you all.” He left.

“Bertie,” Rhodey said, “I-”

“It’s fine,” Bertie said. “It’s not like I get out much anyway.”

* * *

Stephanie was thrown into her work. When she wasn’t signing the paperwork, running charity campaigns, distributing donations, and organizing volunteer programs and research grants, she was working against HYDRA. Stephanie would find herself reading intel, looking at files, HYDRA operations, and communications. She was looking for anything that stood out for what she could tell Rhodey to help Rhodey to stop HYDRA. She took care of James and made her son the happiest little boy on the planet.

“Roger Browning,” She told Rhodey one morning between meetings. “Former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He’s been selling unprocessed and off-server data for the last month. SSR files, too.”

“You think he has something on the Obelisk HYDRA is going after?” Rhodey asked.

“I already emailed Coulson,” She said. “He’ll need your approval for an intercept to opt, but I do think Browning has something.”

“Thank you, Stephanie,” He said.

“No problem, Rhodey,” She said.

“Hey, uh, any word from the Sarge?” he asked.

“Not since late March,” She said. Two months ago. “He’s still figuring some things out.”

“I’m hoping for the best,” He said.

“Oh, I know you are, you hopeless romantic,” she told him with a grin. “You and half of America. There’ll be a lifetime movie about us in a few years.”

“Stephanie,” Rhodey said. “I’ve known Toni long enough to know when someone’s laughing through their pain.”

“Smart guy,” She said. “If I don’t laugh, my only other option is to cry. So, I’ll laugh.”

“Toni’s rubbing off on you, huh?”

“Bold of you to assume my personality deficiencies didn’t rub off on Howard to rub off on Toni,” She said. “Toni’s more well-adjusted than me these days. With therapy and Pepper. I’m so proud of her.”

“You and me both,” Rhodey said. “Good chat, Barnes.”

“Good chat, Rhodes,” She said. As he left, she called after him, “Tell me how your date goes this Saturday!”

He groaned, “Did Toni tell you?”

“Toni will not shut up about it,” She said. “I got a meeting. See you.”

* * *

Coulson sent a few agents to buy some files off of Browning for the intel that they needed about the object  HYDRA was searching for. Things went south, and Browning was killed by an enhanced man. The initial lab reports from the D.C. facility indicated that he could turn his biological material into metal or other substances.

“He’s some sort of… absorbing man,” Bertie explained. Most of it went over Stephanie’s head. Still, essentially, he could alter the nature of his skin to the molecular level.

Rhodey and the rest of the operatives headed back to D.C., where it seemed he was going after Rhodey’s superior in the chain of anti-HYDRA intelligence, General Glenn Talbot. The team managed to apprehend the man - Carl Creel - while he made an attempt on Talbot’s life. Toni and Bertie had already determined vibrations at a particular frequency destabilized whatever enhancement was built into his molecular structure. They had the engineer at the D.C. site modify an old piece of equipment to create a containment unit for Creel. Then, Nat interrogated him. It took all of seventeen minutes for them to reduce Creel to tears, and all Nat did was stand across from him and talk.

“He claims he was hired by a man named Sunil Bakshi,” Rhodey debriefed. “Bakshi currently is the assistant of the CEO of Whitehall Enterprises.”

“The HYDRA Lab in Delaware,” Stephanie nodded.

“Apparently,” Rhodey said. “The object we’ve been looking for we’ve had all along. It’s in one of our storage warehouses of S.H.I.E.L.D. artifacts we’re still trying to process. It’s incredibly lethal, contact causes death in minutes.”

“I can see why HYDRA’s looking for it,” Bertie said.

“We’re sending it to Stark Industries. I need you, ladies, to figure out what it does and how. I trust you with it, but this is highly lethal. I need you to promise you will be using the most severe caution.”

“We’ll use the quarantine pod and the remote-controlled scanners,” Toni promised. “And Grade-9 Stark Industries Hazmat Equipment if we need human hands.”

“We don’t have enough yet to arrest Bakshi without HYDRA scattering, but now there’s a lot of pressure on Simmons to get a promotion and make the right friendships. Carter is already looking into plans, Steph if she needs to bounce ideas off of you-”

“She can bounce all she wants,” Stephanie assured him. “I’m heading down to D.C. this weekend anyway to take her to see Peggy, anyway.”

* * *

Sharon told Stephanie to just come up to her office in central D.C., and they would head down to Peggy’s assisted living facility. The facility looked like a regular red brick office building from the exterior, but the interior disguised a facility that held upward to fifty operatives from the CIA, FBI, NSA, and the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. Rhodey and Sam were practicing flight maneuvers on an air force base, Nat and Claire were on a stakeout, which meant it was just Sharon and everyone that Coulson supervised at the facility when Stephanie arrived.

“Um, Hi,” An Asian-American woman with shoulder-length dark hair and messy bangs greeted Stephanie. “Thirteen sent me to see you, we had a bit of a problem this morning, so she’s busy.”

“What problem?” Stephanie asked.

The woman blinked, “I’m probably allowed to tell you, right? You’re Captain America and all-”

“Stephanie Barnes, please,” Stephanie said, offering her hand.

“Um, I’m Skye,” The woman said, she shook Stephanie’s hand, flustered. “Your arms are very big.”

Stephanie smiled graciously, “So what’s the problem?”

“Brock Rumlow woke up from his coma and broke out of his care facility,” Skye said. Stephanie did not like that news, and she did not like Rumlow. Skye seemed to notice and hurriedly started explaining, “We’re running a trace right now, we have some chatter he’s trying to do an arms deal with HYDRA. Thirteen and Coulson are working on it in her office.”

“Can you take me there?” Stephanie asked.

“Yeah,” Skye said. She started leading Stephanie through the maze of the building to Coulson’s office. As they walked, they talked.

“So, you worked with S.H.I.E.L.D?” Stephanie asked.

“I was in training on Coulson’s mobile command unit when the agency went to shit,” Skye said. “Got my badge _that day_.”

“So, you’re a field operative?”

“Sort of, I’m still learning how to do the fighting and the guns and all that stuff,” Skye said. “I’m a hacker by trade. I was with the Rising Tide before Coulson picked me up.”

“Those neo-anarchists and government conspiracy theorist hackers?” Stephanie asked.

“I guess,” Skye said.

“Sounds fun,” Stephanie shrugged.

“Wait, you’re like, not _disappointed_ in my life choices?” Skye asked.

“I took down a federal agency and put over seventy years of intelligence documents on the internet because of a secret neo-fascist society that nobody believed existed,” Stephanie said. “That would be hypocritical of me to judge.”

Skye’s smile was huge.

The elevator doors opened, they must have reached the office level. Skye stepped out. Stephanie followed.

“Hey, May,” Skye waved at a stone-faced Asian woman, “It’s Captain Barnes.”

“Captain,” May nodded cordially.

“This is Agent Melinda May, she’s training me,” Skye said like a proud daughter.

“Nat and Claire have mentioned you,” Stephanie said with realization. “They mentioned a few of your missions. Consider me impressed.”

“Thank you,” May said. “You’re here to see Thirteen?”

“We were going to see her aunt. But, that was before Rumlow was on the loose,” Stephanie said. “Rumlow was one of the men who managed my husband’s treatment. Let’s just say I might be invested in seeing him recaptured.”

“Coulson will be pleased,” May said. She motioned to a door with her head. “You can head on in. Skye, I need you to go down to the lab and help Fitz and Mack.”

“On it, May. Nice to meet you, Captain Barnes,” Skye said with a polite wave.

“She’s learning,” May said as if trying to justify Skye’s eagerness.

“It’s nice to know the kids are alright,” Stephanie said. “Even after everything.”

May looked at Stephanie strangely before a ghost of a smile crossed her face, “I agree, Captain.”

Stephanie stepped into the office, where Sharon and Coulson were working on separate things. Coulson sprung up immediately when Stephanie entered. “Captain Barnes!” He said reverently. “You’re here.” She knew Coulson was alive for a few months now, but it was strange to see the face of the man whose funeral she attended. Him, Fury, Bucky, Zola, did _anyone_ stay dead?

“I heard about Rumlow,” She said. “Need a hand?”

“It’s embarrassing for the higher-ups,” Sharon said. “They want it resolved quickly, but I think he’s as good as gone.”

“Thirteen isn’t sure he’s going back to HYDRA,” Coulson said.

“He’s into power and pain,” Sharon said. “HYDRA’s not what it was, not to mention they left him under a building.”

“But he’s making for a HYDRA arms deal,” Coulson said.

“Where?” Stephanie asked.

“Abandoned federal bank here in D.C.,” Sharon said. “I think it’s a trap. If we respond to the call, we’re getting bullets in our brains. Let’s see if HYDRA actually goes for the scent, and then we monitor the exchange. Unknown third party. An element of surprise all around.”

“How do you monitor it?” Stephanie asked. “We won’t have eyes or ears inside that bank, we don’t know if he’s here now or not.”

“Tourist trap,” Sharon said. Coulson nodded in understanding.

“I know you have cute little words for all your operations, but care to explain?” Stephanie asked.

“We’ll explain on the way,” Sharon said. “I want some backup. May, Skye, and Trip.”

“You got it,” Coulson nodded.

“Do you wanna come, Steph?” Sharon asked.

Stephanie said, “Shotgun.”

* * *

Sharon, Stephanie, May, Skye, and Trip were piled into an SUV outside the federal bank that Rumlow selected as a meeting place for the HYDRA operatives. Trip, the only agent Stephanie hadn’t met yet, was a charming young man and the grandson of Gabe Jones. He and Sharon had known each other since childhood and were good friends. They talked mindlessly as the whole car observed a dark sedan had circled the block twice.

“That must be them,” Sharon said. She slipped out of the car dressed as a tourist, a map, and coffee in her hands. She started wandering around the block. The sedan parked fifty feet from the bank, and three agents who were clearly packing underneath their dark clothes. As a unit, they walked down the street and right into the confused tourist who was Sharon Carter. Her coffee splattered against the one. She started apologizing profusely while patting his shirt dolefully.

“Thirteen planted the bug,” Skye said from the tablet she was looking at. 

They brushed her off and continued toward the bank. Sharon watched them disappear inside and then head back to the car. “They’re assholes,” She said.

“Audio coming in now,” Skye said.

“Ugh, it smells down here,” One voice said. “Like something died.”

“Something probably did, rookie,” Another voice snapped.

“That’s the boss,” Sharon said.

“Where the hell is Rumlow?” The boss asked.

“So glad you could join me, gentlemen,” Rumlow said. “Welcome to Pierce’s favorite shithole.”

“What is this place?”

“This is where he kept The Asset,” Rumlow said.

“Bucky,” Stephanie said.

“What’s with the corpses?” The rookie asked.

“Apparently, the Soldier didn’t like finding out we brainwashed him and tried to make him kill his wife, and he got a little grumpy,” Rumlow said. “Killed two men, blinded one, one escaped uninjured. This was the technician and wipe room. As you can see, he destroyed the machine. Luckily, he left all his tech. I’d like you to meet the Winter Soldier’s armory.”

There were sounds of appreciation coming from the impressed HYDRA operatives.

“Look, we’re happy to hear you made it out after D.C., Rumlow,” The boss said. “Whitehall would love to meet with you, he knew you were very loyal to Pierce. Now, I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with all this stuff, but Heil-”

There was a gunshot over the line.

“I didn’t do this for HYDRA,” Rumlow grumbled. “You want in on my next jobs, you better leave all that shit at the door.”

“You-” a third voice said. Some sort of motion happened. There was a second gunshot.

“Don’t shoot,” the rookie begged. “I only joined HYDRA for the money.”

“Well, kid, I can get you a ton a money,” Rumlow said, sounding satisfied.

“We need to go in,” Stephanie said. “The longer they’re in that armory, the worse it’s gonna be when they leave it.”

Sharon glanced at Stephanie and nodded, “You heard Cap, gear up.”

“Got any projectiles?” Stephanie asked. “Tear gas? Stun grenades?”

“Fitz made us an ICER grenade,” Sharon said.

“ICER?” Stephanie asked.

“It’s some biochem thing he made with Simmons,” Sharon said. Stephanie recognized the name Simmons, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who was trying to get in on HYDRA. “It’ll stun anyone and anything short of the Valkyrie or the Hulk.”

“Even me?”

“Something about a metabolic-adjusted neurotoxin,” Sharon said. “The harder you go, the stronger it gets. Same effect.”

“Smart kids,” Stephanie nodded. “Thirteen, can I trust you to lead? I’ll flank your team. Let’s go for nonlethal if we can. Rumlow knows things we want to know.”

“You can trust me, Cap,” Sharon said with a nod. “You heard her, ICERs, and tasers only.”

Sharon led, with Trip, Skye, and May following her. Stephanie flanked. The men were not kidding about the stench of death, the rotting bodies of the two HYDRA men that Bucky had killed back in January still lay in the vault, covered in bugs and oozing. They pushed past those bodies. They pushed past the wipe room, where the machine that had tortured her husband and took his memories lay in a hundred ripped and warped pieces. They pushed further in, to the doors at the armory. They could hear Rumlow and his new rookie putting supplies in bags. Sharon pulled out the ICER grenade, cracked the door, and tossed it in.

“Shit!” Rumlow barked. The doors burst open as the ICER went off, and the rookie got hit. Rumlow got out, but was immediately tased by Skye, and kicked in painful places by Sharon and May. He dropped to the ground. On his back, with his arms folded beneath him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Stephanie said. Rumlow’s skin was mottled and scarred, lumpy, and broken from the building collapse five months ago. “You look like crap. You’re like the love child between Hitler’s lone wrinkly testicle and a very old avocado.”

“I think I look pretty good, all things considered,” Rumlow said.

“Yes, you definitely win the beauty contest for murderers who had a building dropped on them,” Stephanie said. “The Wicked Witch of the East was a close second.”

“You know he knew you,” Rumlow said. “Your husband, your sweetheart, your Bucky.”

“Did he, now?” Stephanie asked.

“He remembered you. I was there; he got all weepy about it. Until we put his brain back in the blender,” Rumlow said with a chuckle. “He wanted you to know something.”

“Let me guess,” Stephanie said. She kicked him in the ribs so hard he flipped onto his stomach. Beneath his back was a grenade that was missing the pin. She kicked it out of his hand. The small ball flew through the air, bounced off of the vault door, skidded down the hall, and went off. The loud blast and flames were accompanied by the squelching noises of the rotting body outside, getting caught in the explosion. “He wanted me to know that I shouldn’t let a HYDRA agent stall me with a sob story. Good news, he was always the weepy one between us.”

“She’s so cool,” Skye whispered enthusiastically to Trip.

“I always thought Grandpa was exaggerating,” Trip whispered back.

May, Skye, and Trip supervised the clean-up of the facility while Sharon and Stephanie spoke to Coulson.

“Thanks for your help today, Cap,” Coulson said.

“It’s nice to help now and again, especially since I have a vendetta against some certain individuals,” She glanced at Rumlow chained up like an animal. 

“What do you want us to do with the machine?” Coulson asked.

“As far as we’re concerned, Coulson, that’s a pile of scrap metal,” Stephanie said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Coulson said. “Thirteen, sorry for keeping you, you’re dismissed. Have fun seeing Peggy Carter.”

“I’ll tell her you said ‘hi,’” Sharon promised. “C’mon Steph.” They headed out of the bank. “You know, that grenade kick was _really_ hot,” She teased.

“Oh, Sharon,” Stephanie said. “I’m blushing. If only I weren’t married.”

“If _only_ ,” Sharon lamented dramatically. Stephanie laughed. 

* * *

“Sharon, darling!” Peggy greeted them as they entered her room. “And Stephanie! Thank you so much for all of the artwork,” she motioned to the wall behind her bed. “It’s good to wake up and remember you.”

“Hi, Peggy,” Stephanie smiled.

“Oh, if only you were here a few hours sooner,” Peggy said. “James was here.”

“James is in New York with Toni,” Stephanie puzzled.

“No, not your son, James, your husband, James,” Peggy said. “He’s as devastatingly handsome and devilishly charming as I remember.”

Sharon glanced at Stephanie. Stephanie glanced at Sharon.

“He was here?” Stephanie asked, weakly. “How was he?”

“He seemed well,” Peggy said. “He asked about you. He’s been studying the works of Emily Dickinson, recently. His voice is as dulcet as ever.”

“I’m glad he’s okay,” Stephanie said. “How have _you_ been, Peggy?”

* * *

The summer passed quickly, while Stephanie kept busy the entire time. If she wasn’t working as the director of philanthropy, she was working as a consultant for Rhodey’s taskforce and the department of defense. When Stephanie wasn’t working as a consultant, she was a mother to James. When she wasn't a mother, she was a friend to Toni, Pepper, Nat, Claire, Sharon, Sam, Bertie, and Bernie. Her birthday was a quiet night out with friends a few days after the actual firework event everyone else celebrated. 

In mid-June, they found that HYDRA hadn’t entirely phased out brainwashing when raiding a facility in Utah. That launched them into a massive search for missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that could possibly be under the influence of HYDRA or in the process of being indoctrinated at the very moment. Toni and Bernie began working on neuro-mapping to try to see if they could cure the rampant brainwashing and memory wiping via hypnosis and electric stimulation in the intelligence communities. The lines kept leading back to Whitehall enterprises in Dover, but Simmons was still inching her way through the ranks. She finally got a meeting with Bakshi in mid-August. She had to prove her loyalty by helping them capture a S.H.I.E.L.D. cadet who had become enhanced in a cryogenic experiment gone wrong. HYDRA wanted to recondition him for their purposes. The boy lashed out, Simmons saved Bakshi’s life, and the enhanced boy was killed in the process. Stephanie felt very heavy after the debriefing as she rode back to Park Slope with James in her lap. She cooked and ate dinner, carefully packed the leftovers in the plastic box outside, watched television with James, gave him a bath, and read him to sleep. Stephanie drearily stumbled down the stairs. She was replaying the day's emails and memos in her mind and started turning off lights inside when there was a rap of knuckles on the bay window in her kitchen.

Standing on her fire escape was her husband, and he had a bouquet of flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! As always, I appreciate your feedback!


	20. Tails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your support for this series, I appreciate it, and I hope you're enjoying the double update!
> 
> This is somewhat nonlinear storytelling, the first of a few chapters entirely from Bucky's perspective to explain where he's been the last few months. I hope to span the gap from the place he was in _Deviation_ to being able to give Stephanie flowers at the end of _Heads_. It'll take a while, and this is just the beginning.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. I hope you like this chapter! A reporter in the comics mildly inspires the character, Cora.

Bucky knew he needed to get out of New York, he needed to go somewhere new, but not too far away. That’s how he got a bus to Philadelphia. Then there was some hitchhiking and a lot of walking. Still, he eventually settled for the night in Easton, Pennsylvania, and decided to stay. Easton was on the Pennsylvanian side of the Delaware River, across from New Jersey, and seventy miles outside New York City. It was a relatively suburban city with a downtown district, walking through the highlights seemed to be colonial-style houses and a private college.

Using his Nicholas Stover identification and the money supplied by Stephanie, he put a deposit down on an apartment, so he had a roof over his head and running water. It was a cramped studio apartment with white, uneven walls and dark blue shaggy carpets. It was also cheap because it was right next to a throughway, which had some noise at night, but knowing where he was with the sounds of cars sounded more soothing that stressful if he came out of a nightmare. He spent his first week in Easton gathering supplies and taking walks along the Delaware River, watching the dark brown water. 

Sitting on the banks of the river beneath the Easton-Phillipsburg Toll Bridge, he opened a fresh notebook and wrote.

_ What Makes Me Happy: _

He stared at the blank page for what felt like an hour before he tossed it back in his bag.

After that week, his landlady kindly reminded him that he had to be employed or on unemployment benefits by the end of the month to keep his apartment. He ended up finding himself a custodian job at the private college on the other side of the throughway, Lafayette College. Nicholas Stover had a successful background check and a sad story, a former Army Sergeant, honorably discharged with a PTSD diagnosis. He found himself taking the graveyard shift for eight hours, six days a week, getting paid twenty dollars an hour. He got into work at ten in the evening and left at six in the morning. He was given a baggy gray uniform, and nobody questioned if he wore utility gloves all the time to hide his metal fingers from the rest of the world. He would be told when he went on shift what he needed to clean, and was radioed in if anything came up during the night that he had to deal with immediately. It wasn’t mindless work, but it was repetitive, and repetition was reassuring.

It was his eleventh day on shift, and he was supposed to be cleaning at the Skillman library. It was a beautiful building, with floor-to-ceiling windows, wooden paneling, plush leather armchairs, and chandeliers. It was a combination of colonial and modern architecture and interior design, luxurious and lavish like the kids who went to a private college. He was going through the study rooms, sweeping up the remnants of the work and food that had been done that day. It was nearing one in the morning when the library officially closed, and everyone inside would be shuffled out. The library receptionist on duty had already left. This meant it was Bucky’s responsibility to tell the young woman furiously working so late at night that she should go home.

She was a small woman with yellow hair that was piled on her head and held in place with a bright pink scrunchie. She was furiously taking notes from a book.

“It’s twelve fifty,” Bucky said.

She glanced up at him with sharp, pale eyes, “Then I have ten minutes.”

“What are you working on?” He asked.

“My thesis,” She grumbled. “You’re new. Brad never bothers me while I’m working.” 

“Sorry, I’m not Brad,” He said.

At twelve fifty-nine, she packed up her stuff and left.

Three days later, the same thing happened. Skillman was practically empty, except for that one girl, now with a green scrunchie, who was working feverishly.

“Still working on your thesis?”

“It’s gonna be sixty-ish pages long, so, yeah,” She said. She checked the time on her phone, “I still have twenty minutes Not-Brad.”

“To do sixty-ish pages? Good luck.”

She looked up at him with a sharp expression, clearly unamused. He avoided her gaze and returned to sweeping. Once she started to pack up, he waited, so he could lock up after she left.

“Sorry for being a bitch,” She said. “I know you’re just doing your job.”

Bucky shrugged.

“I’m Cora.” She said.

“Nick,” He lied, it was the name on his tag, after all.

“Have you been working here for long, Nick?”

“Two weeks,” He said, avoiding her. This was small talk, he knew it was a regular human interaction. But this woman had unusually sharp eyes.

“And Brad didn’t read you in on me?” She asked.

“I don’t know Brad,” He admitted.

She nodded, “I’m a grad student, masters in comparative literature. I’m here every night working on my thesis.”

“Why?” he asked.

She stared at him, but her sharpness was replaced with scrutiny, “You’re the first person to ask me that.”

“Am I?” he asked.

“It works the best with my schedule, and it’s usually quiet, which is something I can’t get in the apartment I share with three other grad students,” Cora said. “So, that’s your answer. Have a good night, Nick.”

“Goodnight, Cora.”

Cora became a bit of a routine with Bucky. He would sweep Skillman and lock up at one in the morning five days a week, and Cora would always be working. They usually exchanged pleasantries, and Cora would leave so he could lock up on time. Bucky was a little interested in the books that she read. A lot of modern novels, but not necessarily English ones. A lot of books about literature and writing. A lot of books about relationships and sexuality. And a lot of modern history. It looked like she was studying literature in some capacity. And it seemed more like that just based on the way she acted.

“So, what’s your story?” Cora asked.

“I don’t have one,” Bucky replied.

“Everyone has a story, Nick,” Cora said.

“I don’t have a good one,” he said.

“If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to talk,” Cora said.

“Then we’re not talking,” he replied harshly. Cora looked at him with a quite readable expression, and he knew that he made a mistake, but then she left. He felt bad. The next day, before he started to sweep, he found her.

“I have at least an hour,” She said.

“You have ninety minutes,” He said. “And this,” He set the bag of pastries. “Sorry about yesterday.”

He swept, cleaned the bathrooms, and emptied the trash. By the time that he went to sweep the study room that Cora was in and lock up, it was five minutes to closing. 

“Thanks for the donuts,” Cora said. “Sorry about prying the other day. I’m nosy.”

“You are,” Bucky agreed. “What’s your thesis about?”

“The development of romance in modern literature - from 1945 to the present day - and how it’s influenced by social factors at the time,” She said.

“You’re doing a thesis on romance?” he asked, amused.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to talk down on romance, because it is a central staple to literature and-”

“It’s just funny, your name is Cora,” he said.

“So?” She asked.

“ _ Corazon _ ,  _ coeur, cor, cuore, coracao, cord _ ,” He listed. “It sounds like the word ‘heart’ in multiple languages.”

She blinked at him, “It’s a Latinization of  _ Kore _ , the maiden name for the goddess Persephone, wife of Hades, the God of Death, in Greek Mythology.”

“You know the etymology of your own name?” he asked.

“You know the word ‘heart’ in seven languages,” She replied.

“More than seven,” He replied.

“More than seven?” She asked. “Are you joking? How many languages do you know?”

He shrugged. He didn’t recognize a language until he heard it. His current count of what he understood well enough to make conversation was nearing two dozen. “See you tomorrow, Cora.”

* * *

When he didn’t have work, he explored Easton. He found that he liked going to a family-owned coffee shop three blocks from his apartment, with a variety of food selections and types of coffee and tea. He would sit at a table and either read a book or work on his laptop. He liked the Easton public library, which was far more quaint than the one in Brooklyn, but still provided a quiet place to read and relax. In a realization, as he skimmed through the shelves in the library one day, he did have two things that made him happy. There were things he often did because he wanted to, and they made him feel good. Soon after this realization, he added a third. He didn’t have the time, energy, or ability to cook, so he often ate out. And he liked the options. Italian, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, French, American, and more. He ate out every day for almost every meal. And so, he now had a list:

_ Coffee _

_ Books _

_ Food _

* * *

“Why romance?” he asked Cora. “Of all the things in literature, why romance?”

“Because romance is central to the human experience,” Cora said. “Even if we, as an individual, don’t find love, it’s a central part of our society.”

“So, how are you analyzing it?” He asked.

“I have to compare popular relationships and tropes. And I compare how their dynamic shifted throughout modern history and then explain those shifts with cultural, social, and political phenomena,” Cora said.

“So, what relationships are you looking at?” He asked.

“I’m focusing on three whoppers,” She said. “Romeo and Juliet and their derivatives and tropes, Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy and their derivatives and tropes, and then  _ the _ modern love story, Stephanie and Bucky Barnes.”

He squinted at her, shocked by her words, and curious if she realized she was talking to a subject of her thesis.

“Why them, right? Especially because they’re not fictional,” Cora sighed. “Because they’re so influential. They entered the public eye at the beginning of the modern era, and they stayed in it in some way up until the modern-day. And, look, I don’t care what you say, Bucky Barnes is  _ dreamy _ .”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, getting a strong urge to look away and rub the back of his neck.

“You aren’t one of those types who’s hung up on the fact he was an assassin, are you?” She asked argumentatively, completely misreading his body language. This was not good. He winced, memories of the back of a head exploding in his scope started to flash behind his eyes. “Because he was  _ brainwashed _ by the  _ Nazis _ .”

“He still killed people,” Bucky found himself saying.

“Oh, like you would’ve survived that?” She asked.

“No,” Bucky said. “But, I still did - I still would have done it.”

“It’s not the actions that matter, it’s the intent. And Bucky Barnes had no intention, he was forced. Have you even  _ read _ the dossier?”

“Don’t need to.”

“Yes, you do! Read it before you start getting all hung up on what he  _ did _ . Anyone who went through that deserves a hug, not blame,” Cora said passionately. “Bucky Barnes had no control over his actions. He had no sense of identity or morality. All he had was what they made him do, and he  _ fought _ that, and he saved Captain Barnes’s life! You were asking why romance, that’s why I like romance. Because love is so powerful, it can cut through seventy years of Nazi brainwashing.”

“You’re romanticizing it,” he said. “It wasn't 'love.' The serum repaired his neurons even after the destruction caused by the mind wipe machine. It just took specific patterns of neurons going off at the right time for him to start remembering pieces of his past. But even if he forgot his past, he still did what he did.”

“Alright, maybe it wasn't just 'love,' but the emotional impact of his relationship with Captain Barnes  _ definitely _ had an effect. And, I’m sorry, be a jerk all you want, but he deserves forgiveness. Captain Barnes said so,” Cora argued.

“Well, maybe she’s compromised by her emotions,” He said.

“Just because her emotions have an effect doesn’t mean her judgment is  _ bad _ . Maybe, being influenced like things like love and compassion make those opinions  _ better _ than if they were influenced through fear or anger, which is, by the way, what’s influencing  _ your _ opinion.”

“It’s one-o-five,” Bucky said, “Time to go.”

“Fine,” Cora huffed, tidying up her things into her bag.

“You’re not wrong,” Bucky said as he locked up, and she walked out. “I’m just not ready to forgive him yet.”

“Why, did he kill someone that you knew?” Cora asked tauntingly.

“Something like that, yeah,” Bucky nodded. “See you, Cora.”

“Bye, Nick,” She said, although he could tell that she was pondering what he said.

He did the rest of his work for the day, cleaning up three lecture halls and some bathrooms before he clocked out at six in the morning. As he changed from his work uniform into a pair of jeans and a shirt, he heard a female voice outside, talking to the guys as they went on shift. He grabbed his bag and walked out of the locker room, confronted with Cora, who had a wild look in her eye.

“You!” She exclaimed.

“What?” He asked.

“We’re getting breakfast,” She declared.

The Cosmic Cup Coffee Company opened at six-thirty. And Bucky could tell by the bags under Cora’s eyes that she had not slept since he evicted her from the library five hours prior. 

“What can I get you?” The woman at the counter asked brightly.

“Muffins for both of us. I want a Grande mocha,” Cora said. “Three extra shots of espresso. And whip. A  _ lot _ of whip.”

“And you, sir?”

“A mezzo cafe au lait, please,” He said politely. “I can pay-”

“I’m paying,” Cora insisted darkly, her voice low and monotone. He backed off. Five minutes later, they were at the corner table together with their drinks and muffins.

“You’re Bucky Barnes,” She said bluntly.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Nick, the janitor, is the husband of Captain America.”

“Are you saying this for your benefit or for mine?”

“Why are you in Easton, Pennsylvania?

“I’m trying to figure out how to be a person again.”

“I’m just guessing here, but maybe your wife would be really good at helping you do that.”

“I’m…” He trailed off. “I hurt her.”

“What you did under HYDRA’s control-”

“No, not then,” He shook his head. “I went to her after. And I lost control, and I hurt her.”

“Did you want to hurt her?” Cora asked.

“No.”

“Did you try to hurt her?”

“No.”

“So, why did you hurt her?”

“I was asleep and-”

“You accidentally hurt her,” Cora guessed.

“My nightmares can be violent,” He said.

“Did she tell you to go?” Cora asked.

“No, she said that- that I don’t have missions anymore. I’m free to make whatever choices I want. And I had no idea what to do, so she suggested I try to find what makes me happy. So I left to figure that out. And maybe, then, I can go back.”

“Did she tell you not to come back unless you know what makes you happy?”

“No,” He said. “Steph said that she’d help if I needed it. And she’d wait for me if I needed to go.”

“Huh,” Cora said, swirling her coffee. “And you thought suburban Pennsylvania is where it’s at for happiness?”

“I wanted to be somewhere I’ve never been before, so I can make new memories instead of being haunted by my old ones. Not that it helped that much. I just ended up here, I guess. I’m not even sure if it’s worth going back. Stephanie deserves better,” he said. “She deserves better than my past. She deserves better than my pain.”

“Isn’t that her choice to make?” Cora asked. Bucky stayed silent, not really having an answer to that. “You know, you said that you’re still feeling guilty for what you did, even though you had no free will. So let’s assume, let’s assume that’s true. That you should be held accountable for your actions when you were controlled.” She looked up at him, “Don’t you have free will now? Whatever bad you did, whatever pain you caused, it’s never too late to change. As low as you’ve fallen, as far as you’ve failed, you can always pick yourself up, face the right way, and start putting some good into the world.”

“You sound like Stephanie,” He grumbled under his breath.

Cora squeaked, “I do?”

“You do,” Bucky nodded.

“I sound like Captain America,” Cora said breathlessly.

“No,  _ Stephanie _ .” He insisted. “Captain America is the image she put on for the world when they needed one. Stephanie is the punk from Brooklyn with a bleeding heart I fell in love with.”

Cora flushed and looked down at her hands, then back up at him, “I’ll help you.”

“Help me with what?” He asked.

“Help you figure out what makes you happy,” She said. “Because then, you might go to her, and that will make me really happy because I’ve shipped you guys since I was twelve.”

“Shipped?” he asked.

“It’s like I’m… emotionally invested in your relationship,” She explained.

“But when you were twelve, the world thought we were dead,” He said.

“Look, it’s dumb, I know,” She said. “Can I help you?”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Okay!” She said eagerly. “What do you have so far?”

He pulled his notebook from his bag and showed her the list.

“Coffee, books, food,” She read. “Huh, okay. Maybe you could get more specific? What’s your favorite book?”

“I liked  _ The Hobbit _ ,” he said. “These days, I read to read.”

“But you like reading?” She asked. He nodded. “Can I make a list?”

He handed her a pen. She flipped to a new page.

“These are some of my favorite modern books,” She said. “Maybe you’ll like them too. You should be able to get them at the public library.” Her hand flew across the page as she scribbled about fifty titles.

* * *

_ 1984 _ and  _ Animal Farm _ were interesting, in the sense that he felt like a lot of people didn’t understand they were both anti-fascism and pro-socialism.  _ To Kill A Mockingbird _ was sometimes whimsical and sometimes heartbreaking.  _ The Help _ was somehow funny and heart-wrenching.  _ Red Russia _ was hilarious.  _ The Catcher In The Rye _ was strange, and then it was sad.  _ The Handmaid’s Tale, Fahrenheit-451,  _ and  _ Brave New World _ were all dramatized dystopias of modern horrors that were terrible and exciting to read.  _ The Life Of Pi _ was spellbinding.  _ Slaughterhouse-Five _ combined humor and horror to describe the war.  _ The Poisonwood Bible _ reminded him of his sisters.  _ The Great Gatsby _ brought back the vapidness of his childhood before the depression.  _ Catch-22 _ and  _the Book Thief_ made  him recall the war.  _ Night _ by Elie Wiesel left him sobbing.  _ Going after Cacciato  _ and  _ The Things They Carried _ described war painfully well, even though he didn’t do that much during Vietnam.  _ The Road _ was a horrible post-apocalyptic narrative while  _ On the Road _ was just a horrendous book all around.  _ The Invisible Man _ had been easy enough to handle until the narrator lost his memories and was being experimented on with electricity. It took him seven tries to get past that section, and he threw up twice. Cora apologized profusely when she realized why he was struggling. Still, he was glad he got through it in the end because he actually felt a little bit of hope.  _ One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest _ similarly included the surreal loss of reality and torture with electroshock therapy. Still, he also found himself laughing at McMurphy and crying at the end.

His happy list kept growing. He realized happiness didn’t have to be the intense emotion that he expected. Taking long walks made him happy. Having a successful night at work made him happy. Sleeping for more than three hours at a time made him happy. Music made him happy, or, instead, certain kinds did. He rented CDs from the library and used the player in his stolen laptop to push his way through the decades, listening to music as he sat on his sleeping bag and read. Quiet made him happy. But so did sitting in a cafe and watching people. Dreams that didn’t end in blood and death made him happy. Wry humor made him laugh, and children made him smile. Hot showers and baths made him happy. Keeping his hair soft and his body clean made him happy. Waking up with the sun on his face made him happy. More and more, he was becoming happy.

* * *

Bucky was getting ready to go to work. There was a torrent of rain outside, the showers of late April, but he would be alright with an umbrella. There was a knock at his door. He opened it, and Cora rushed in with something writhing beneath her jacket.

“I’m sorry, you were the first person I thought of,” She said. She pulled the writhing thing out of her jacket, and it was a small, white kitten. “I found it in a storm drain.”

“Why not take it to a vet?”

“How many vets are open in Easton at nine in the evening?” She asked. “You know first aid, right?”

“Yeah, I-" he sighed. “We need to get her warm.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“I don’t know, I just-” He sighed. “Set the cat on the counter.”

Cora set the cat down and backed away. Bucky inspected her - it _was_ a her. She was soaked, shivering, and cold, but she didn’t seem to be in pain. He carried her with one hand and bundled her in a towel. “I’m gonna call in sick,” Bucky said.

“Thank you,” Cora said.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“I’ll be fine,” She assured him, shedding out of her waterlogged jacket and shoes. She curled up by the radiator. Bucky sat down beside her, the cat still bundled in his arms.

He didn’t know how it happened. At first, they were just keeping an eye on the cat, with full intentions on bringing it to a shelter to be adopted. But then Cora bought the girl some toys, and she got attached. But her apartment didn’t allow pets, so Bucky had to keep the cat at his or else. And then, Bucky and the Cat got closer.

“You named her?” Cora asked smugly.

“Alpine,” Bucky grumbled.

“What a sweet name, Allie, baby,” Cora cooed.

Alpine was about three months old, an all-white American shorthair with the biggest, bluest eyes. She was ridiculously affectionate, especially to Bucky. She insisted on climbing into the sleeping bag with him when he went to bed and curling up under his chin, purring away. It got to the point that when he woke up with a start, cold sweat, and a terrible memory in the middle of trying to rest, she would purr louder and lull him back into another three hours of sleep. Alpine would sit on his lap when he read a book, curl up at his feet when he ate, and meow at the door of the bathroom when he showered. One day, he let her in to shower with him, and she sat on the toilet, watching him curiously through the glass panes.

“I’m rationed, sugar,” He told her.

She meowed insistently and watched him shower.

When he wasn’t doing something worth his time, he was doing something worth Alpine’s time. Namely playing with her. There was a small toy attached to a piece of string appended to a stick, and she would chase it around the cramped apartment all day if he let her. She also liked to roll balls across the floor and attack stuffed mice until their innards were distributed with white fluff everywhere.

“You’re violent, Miss Alpine,” He told her as he picked up the fluff and tossed it into his garbage.

She meowed and rolled onto her back, exposing her belly and looking up at him lazily.

Alpine was also a glutton. He gave her kibble, but whenever he opened the fridge, she jumped in and tried to go after the stack of wet cat food cans. He had to scoop her out by the scruff of her neck and close the fridge. She would then pretend to be mad at him and whack her paw at him, but always with her claws retracted.

* * *

“I finished it,” Cora declared one morning. They were getting coffee together before she went to class, and he went to bed. “My thesis. I did it.”

“Sixty-something pages?” He asked.

“Eighty-seven,” She declared proudly. “I’m gonna spend the next three weeks editing, and then email it to my advisor and see his opinion.”

“Can I read it?” He asked.

“You want to read it?”

“Sure, I’d love to see you over-analyze my marriage.”

“I’m not necessarily analyzing your marriage as much as people perceive your marriage through the twentieth century, and you- you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Something like that.”

* * *

Her professor liked her thesis. Cora graduated and immediately started looking for publishing jobs in New York. She received an offer to be an Editorial Assistant at HarperCollins Publishers with a focus on the romance genre.

“You gonna stay in Eaton?” Cora asked.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.

“You should come back to New York,” Cora said. “You should go back to your wife.”

“Cora-”

“You know what makes you happy, right? Books, and coffee, and food, and Alpine, and me, I hope. You like walks and sleeping and comfortable clothes and spending an hour on your hair. But you know what isn’t on that list that oughta be?”

“Stephanie.”

“Stephanie,” Cora agreed.

Cora was right, the hopeless romantic couldn’t have been more right. When Bucky thought about what made him happy, it was Stephanie. The golden hair, the blue eyes, the pink lips. How caring and compassionate she was. Her strength, her determination. He loved her. Not because she was his handler, not because she was Captain America, but because she was the greatest woman he knew. But it wasn’t that simple: He was different, and she was different. She made him happy, but there was no guarantee that things were going to work with all their trauma. He voiced this to Cora.

“Then maybe you guys should fall in love again,” She said softly.

“What?” he asked.

“Romance, what defines love and relationships, it changes over time. Both because society changes, and also because people change. You’re worried it’ll be like she wants you to be the old you or you want her to be the old her. So fall in love again.”

Cora was a hopeless romantic, but Bucky agreed with her slightly. If he were going to see Stephanie, they would both have to come to terms with the ways that he was different, and to some extent, she was different. He couldn’t act like things could go back to the way they were. Neither could she. So if he started with boundaries and waited for them to grow comfortable with each other naturally (or decide it was best to keep distance). That may be the healthiest way to reunite with her.

“I want to see my sisters first,” Bucky said. “And Peggy Carter. Just to… to see them. And to make sure that I can handle that.”

“Okay,” Cora said. “I’ll take Allie to New York with me. You go road tripping. Visit your sisters. Bring some good books with you. And then you come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for reading. I hope you've enjoyed the last two chapters. I appreciate your patience when it comes to this series! I don't want to make updating and interacting with you become an activity with the same level of obligation and banality as school or work. So, I tend to wait until I'm in the right mood, and it's been harder this semester than past ones with the work that I have (training to be a doctor is hard, who would've thought?). 
> 
> Thank you again. As always, I appreciate your feedback in whatever form you're most comfortable giving it, but I particularly enjoy comments and getting to interact with you here or on my blog (aycdicdbmcu.tumblr.com). Until the next update! :)


	21. Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your continued interest in this fic and series. In this chapter, we'll be enduring with Bucky's perspective with his recovery away from Stephanie between that night in the hotel room and where we last left her, seeing him on her fire escape with flowers. Incidentally, "Flowers" will be the name of the next chapter, if you need any indication where all of this is headed.

Bucky’s new car was an old pickup with a narrow backseat in the cab. He filled the backseat with supplies, a pile of books sat in the shotgun for him to entertain himself on the way across the United States. He had a sizeable spiral-bound map of the country, and routes to where his three sisters lived marked in pen, with plenty of stops along the way. He said goodbye to Alpine and Cora as they left for New York. He made sure Cora had enough cash to cover his half of the rent for as long as he was expecting to be gone and a few months excess in case something happened. If she needed to move somewhere cheaper.

His first stop was Virginia, to the assisted living facility right outside of D.C. that Peggy Carter lived in. He knew that Stephanie saw Peggy once every two weeks on Saturday morning and stayed until lunch. If he came in the afternoon, it would mean the most time in between his visit and Stephanie’s next visit for Peggy to forget that he dropped in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Peggy to remember, it was that he was worried what Stephanie would do if she knew. Call him paranoid, he was a formerly brainwashed ex-assassin. It was a four-hour drive to Virginia, he had lunch in Leesburg and arrived about an hour later than he expected Stephanie to have left. The living facility was in a beautiful, green suburb with farms, gardens, and parks dotted around the area. He was wearing some of the cleaner clothes he owned - a dark grey button-up, dark wash jeans, and a leather jacket - and his long hair was pulled back into a black hair tie at the nape of his neck. While he talked to the receptionist, he kept his left hand in his pocket, and he fit his face into the dazzling smiles he had seen himself make in those old pictures. The effect on the woman was immediate. She started ducking her head and flushing, calling him a “handsome young gentleman” and questioning why Peggy Carter got such lovely guests. She escorted him to Peggy’s room with a hand consistently setting itself on the bicep of his right arm. I was as if she was trying to casually gauge how large it was beneath the layers of fabric.

“Miss Carter, you have a visitor,” She said. “A very nice young man named, I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“James,” Peggy said with realization.

Peggy Carter, in Bucky’s mind, was a beautiful young woman with curly dark hair, discerning yet warm brown eyes, and perfect red lips. In the memories, she was always tongue-in-cheek, a kind and witty young woman who molded perfectly between him and Stephanie’s dynamic. She was different now. Her hair was white and silver, her eyes were slightly glazed, and there was a roadmap of lines across her face that indicated how long of a life she had had since Bucky had last seen her.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the receptionist said.

“Are you going to stare at me or are you going to come in?” Peggy asked.

“Sorry,” He said, ducking into the room and carefully walking over to her bedside.

“I know Stephanie’s alive,” Peggy said, keeping her voice calm, even though she was clearly fighting tears. “Every morning, I wake up, and I see a room full of her art. And I know that she’d have to be alive to give it to me. And my journals, they help.” She sighed, “How long have I know you’re alive?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Stephanie might’ve told you. This is the first time I’ve visited.”

“How are you- how are you both alive?” She asked tearfully.

“I-” He sighed. “When I fell, I didn’t die.”

“Clearly.”

“Clearly,” he echoed. “HYDRA scooped me up. I was Zola’s science experiment before, so I was his science experiment again. They took me out, scrambled me around, made me forget everything, and then sent me to kill people for them. When I wasn’t useful, I was frozen.”

“Stephanie wasn’t-”

“No, Stephanie crashed into the ice when she downed the plane. Frozen, too, but only frozen. Woken up by S.H.I.E.L.D. some sixty-something years later. I was sent to kill her. She saved me.”

“So why aren’t you with her?” Peggy asked.

“Because… Steph deserves better than me,” Bucky admitted.

“You always thought that,” Peggy said. “Always. You were jealous of me when we first met, remember? Because you realized that Stephanie and I got along well, and you basically told her to leave you.”

“I… I still don’t remember some things,” Bucky admitted.

“It isn’t about what she deserves,” Peggy said. “Stephanie Barnes deserves so much more than the world could give her, but she’s happy to be in it anyway.”

Bucky agreed.

“She loves you,” Peggy said. “She always has. She always will.”

“She loves the man she knew,” Bucky said. “Things have changed. She might not-”

“She will,” Peggy assured him. “So why are you here, then?”

“Well, I couldn’t pass through without seeing you, doll,” Bucky said with a slow smile.

Peggy smiled, and he saw a flash of the younger woman in her eyes, “You haven’t lost your charm, I see.”

“You flatter me,” He said. “How is Steph?”

“She’s good,” Peggy said. “She’s staying busy. Saving the world for us all.”

“And how have you been, Pegs?”

“Oh, you know, slowly rotting away in this charming room,” She said. “My mind isn’t what it was, you know, and I’m painfully aware of that.”

“It’s like you’re thinking, and you know something’s missing in your head, but you don’t know what,” He guessed, thinking to his own mind.

“Yes,” She agreed. “And the nurses here are so infantilizing. Oh, yes, I’m sweet old Miss Carter. The nice British woman with swiss cheese in her head, they have no idea what I’ve done. But, I understand why I’m here. Christopher and Isabel have passed, and his children are too busy living their lives to have to worry about old Aunt Peggy. Sharon is a sweetheart, and also a competent agent, which I’m proud of. The world has moved on, and I’m a relic of the past left to slowly decay.”

Bucky set his flesh hand on hers, “HYDRA hated you. They were terrified of you. They didn’t want to send anyone after you and decided to wait out until your retirement to try to take over the world. You’re not some relic of the past, you’re the founder of the present, maybe even of the future. They would’ve won long ago if you weren’t around, and every soul in this country owes their liberty to you. Stephanie never could have stopped HYDRA if you didn’t do the heavy load and stall them while she was in the ice. That legacy isn’t decaying anytime soon.”

“James Barnes, you sure do know how to sweet-talk a girl,” Peggy laughed. “Could you read it to me? I’d like to hear more of your dulcet tones if you don’t mind.”

“You have a book in mind?” He asked. She shook her head. He pulled a paperback out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “This is what I’ve been reading recently.”

“A collection of poems by Emily Dickinson?” She glanced up at him, “Do you like poetry, James?”

“I like to read,” He admitted. “It’s grounding.”

“That it is,” She agreed. “Very well, pick up wherever you left off.”

He flipped to a dog-eared page and cleared his throat, “There’s a certain Slant of light,

/ Winter Afternoons – / That oppresses, like the Heft / Of Cathedral Tunes – / Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – / We can find no scar, / But internal difference, / Where the Meanings, are – / None may teach it – Any – /‘Tis the Seal Despair – / An imperial affliction / Sent us of the Air – / When it comes, the Landscape listens – / Shadows – hold their breath – / When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance / On the look of Death –”

“I do love her poems, depressing as they are,” Peggy said with a wistful sigh. “One of the better American poets.”

“Then, I’ll read you another.”

He read for half an hour, finally ending with, “It’s all I have to bring today— / This, and my heart beside— / This, and my heart, and all the fields— / And all the meadows wide— / Be sure you count—should I forget / Some one the sum could tell— / This, and my heart, and all the Bees / Which in the Clover dwell.”

“Thank you,” Peggy said as he closed the book. “Will you come again?”

“I can’t make promises, but I’ll try,” He said, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, James,” She told him.

* * *

It was just over a thousand miles from Virginia to Florida, where his little sister, Hannah, lived. But he had several stops along the way: He spent the rest of the weekend camping in Shenandoah National Park. He set up a small tent in the flatbed of his pickup truck with a canvas cover in case of rain. Inside, there was an air mattress and a sleeping bag. He parked the car in a camping zone and spent the daylight he had walking the trails. There was something continually relaxing about nature, everything was quiet, the smells were never too strong, and the people were sparse.

That night, like usual, there was a nightmare. He was standing in Helicarrier Charlie, between Stephanie and the computer module she needed to access.

“Do you remember me?” She asked. He did, he remembered her. She was Stephanie. She was his wife.

 “People are going to die,” She told him. “And I can’t let that happen.” He didn’t want that to happen either, now. He wanted to be able to get out of the way. He didn’t want to fight her. He didn’t want to hurt her. But this was a memory, and he was trapped in his body, forced to watch himself hurt her.

. “Bucky,” She said desperately. “Please don’t make me do this, darlin’.”

So severely, so strongly did he want to be able to step to the side, to let her pass, to rebel from HYDRA. He tried to scream and shout and fight his way out of the memory he was trapped in. _Move_ . He ordered himself. He screamed in his mind, _Move. Move. Move_. And suddenly, the image shifted. He was no longer standing between her and the control module. He was no longer in his own head. He was drifting and displaced, watching himself like a memory. But that wasn’t him. As they fought, that wasn’t him. Soon, Stephanie was just fighting a faceless silhouette, and he was standing to the side. That wasn’t him.

He woke up with a gasp and a sheen across his forehead and upper lip. 

 

When he stopped by Raleigh, in North Carolina, he took a detour to see a Natural Science Museum and eat burgers in a booth downtown. Then, he spent two days walking through Great Pee Dee River Heritage Wildlife Preserve and camping out of the pickup truck.

When he slept, he was in D.C. Stephanie was cowering behind a line of cars. He was going after her, or rather, the Winter Soldier was. There was a gun on the overpass, exchanging fire with the soldier. The soldier shot the person but did not confirm the fatality. That person, they were familiar. Romanoff. Romanova. How did he know-?

He was in Ukraine, outside of Odesa. A car was taking a curve at the edge of a cliff, the tires in his scopes. Two shots and they popped. The car careened to the side, control lost. Two figures leaped from the vehicle as it tumbled down the edge of the cliff. One was a small, frail man. The other was Romanova, red hair. Romanova was suspended by a cable, latched onto the broken barrier of the cliff’s edge. It would be too easy to shoot the line and watch them fall. Romanova was covering the scientist, their abdomen in line with his heart. He remembered adjusting his scopes and shooting. The scientist let go and tumbled. Somehow, despite their screams, Romanova held onto the line. He watched them slowly climb up the side of the cliff, blood pouring out of their gut. They called for backup. He watched as backup came. Why did he care? He wasn’t confirming fatality - Romanova was not the target. Why did he-?

He was in Russia. It was a beautiful facility, some sort of ballet theater upstairs, and hell downstairs. The Red Room, he knew. He was unfrozen in a lab and awaited instruction. His technicians waited as the Red Room brought a child to him. Perhaps twelve years old, auburn hair chopped at the shoulders and tied back into a knot at the top of their head.

“This child is the best they have,” his handler explained. “You are going to make it better.”

The child was expressionless, trained to stand perfectly still, face perfectly still. The child followed him on the mission. They sat with him in his nest as he sniped the guards. They followed him delicately as he made his way into the safe house. He took out the rest of the guards and the primary target. The mission report went well. Successful. Then, they asked the child what they learned. The child was brilliant, identifying the specifics of the Soldier’s success. The way he was effective. His techniques as a shooter, a combatant, everything.

“You will train it, tomorrow,” His handler said. “And the next day. And the day after that. Until they are satisfied.”

They were soon delighted. The child was good, and the soldier made the child better. At night, after training, he was retired to a cell, food laid out in front of him. He would sleep, a nightmare, always a nightmare. He woke up, but he did not show his distress. They would wipe him, and how could he properly train the child if they cleaned him? He woke up, and the child was standing on the other side of the bars, eyes wide. The child was familiar to him, not just because he trained them, but they reminded him of something long ago. A frail young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes that he loved. The child had red hair and green eyes. But the feeling was similar, the feeling of taking care.

“What is your name?” He asked. They stared at him, blankly, “You have one, right?”

“They called me Romanova,” The child said. “I - I am Romanova. What about you? Do you have a name?”

“I - I don’t remember,” He admitted.

The child nodded sympathetically, “I looked at your file. Your name is Yasha.”

His name was Yasha - James in Russian - they were speaking Russian. Bucky realized this as he watched his old memories as he slept.

Yasha and Romanova were an active team for four months. The longer Yasha was out of the ice, the longer he was between wipes, the more he remembered. He remembered Stephanie, although her name was lost on his lips. He remembered a war. He remembered three little girls that he cared for. He started to hate HYDRA and the Red Room. Secretly, he was planning an escape. Him and Romanova, he would take them out of Russia. He would escape with Romanova and care for the child somewhere safer.

Then, the mission went wrong. Romanova made a mistake, a blindspot, a bullet nobody could have seen coming. Yasha had a choice: The witness (mission objective) or Romanova. The witness escaped. 

He was putting a tamponade on Romanova’s wound. The color was draining from their face - their body was so small - they were a child, after all.

“Yasha, I’m scared,” Romanova whispered.

They were so small. So pale. “Don’t worry, _moya radost_ , I will take care of you. One day, we will be free.”

“Free?” they asked shakily.

“We’ll have a home somewhere, New York, perhaps. A large city where it is easy to become nobody. And we won’t worry about the mission or the handlers, just the simple things. I’ll take you to the ballet.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Romanova warned weakly. “The only freedom is death.”

“There are others,” he assured them.

HYDRA was furious, but the Red Room was grateful their Romanova survived even though it was clear there was still work to be done. They came to a conclusion, he would be wiped and returned to the ice. But first, they beat him. HYDRA had Romanova listen as they recovered in the room next door. Romanova would not make the same mistake, his screams and sobs forever trapped in their memory. No mistake. No attachment. No emotion.

He was wiped.

And he was beaten and wiped again for good measure.

And he was frozen.

His next mission, he did not remember the child.

Bucky woke up and held down the bile climbing up his throat. He had shot Romanova _twice_. At the time, they were nothing more than a nuisance. Or a target. But now, to him, they were a kid. A kid that was turned into an assassin by the same sort of power-hungry sadists and tyrants made him a monster. They had gotten out, though. Without him. Romanova, Romanoff, the Black Widow, they were an Avenger. A hero, taking down HYDRA along Stephanie. He was disgusted with himself, he was horrified by his past, but he was proud, too. 

What was with him? Bonding with every little thing that needed a friend or a father. First, it was little Stephanie Barnes. Then it was Romanoff in the Red Room. Then Cora. Then Alpine. His had some brooding, mother hen instinct deep inside him, _mission objective: protect her_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully. How did HYDRA manage to turn him into a good assassin when his natural instinct was befriending every scrawny, sad-eyed stray that stumbled across his path? It seemed everything they made him conflicted in some way with everything he was, and it resulted in him being a screwed-up and jumbled mess. But at the least, he now had some concept of identity.

* * *

His next night was spent outside of Jacksonville, camping in the John M. Bethea State Forest. Then he drove through Tampa and ended up at the retirement community of Moorings Park in Naples, Florida. This was where Hannah lived. The last time he saw Hannah, it was a few days before he shipped off to Camp McCoy. She was sixteen years old and hopelessly in love with a boy in her class named Tommy. Now, she was eighty-seven years old, widowed three decades ago thanks to a bad coronary artery, and living in some modern apartment building in a neighborhood full of wealthy senior citizens. The architecture was modern. The interior designing was vaguely Spanish and definitely supposed to be comfortable to the elderly, with all the warm neutrals, white molding, paisley upholstery, and knickknacks. 

Hannah Barnes lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor. Bucky stood in front of her door for a long time, his hand clenching and unclenching as he pushed himself to knock. This was his sister. He could talk to his sister. She wasn’t going to be sixteen, but she was going to be his flesh and blood. He lifted his hand and knocked. The door opened slowly a few moments later. A woman peered at him, and it was her. Silver hair, grey eyes, deep wrinkles. She was bent and warped slightly with her age, but she was still on her feet, draped in a cardigan and a sundress.

“James Buchanan, back from the dead, I see,” Hannah said.

“How you been, Hannah Anne?” He asked her.

“I’ve been sittin’ in the sun and reading my golden years away,” She said. “Come in, now,” She shuffled away from the door. He pushed inside. The walls per buttercup yellow, the woodwork was all white, with yellow and neutral accents in the various pieces of furniture. There were plants on nearly every surface. There was an old box television in a honey-colored entertainment center, And there was a beautiful enclosed balcony, bright with the Florida sun in early June.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” He said.

“You better not be trying to apologize, Jamie," She shuffled into the terracotta-tiled kitchen. She poured two glasses of lemonade from the fridge. “We all know what you’ve been through, and it’s a twisted miracle that you’re here. So don’t be guilty that you took your time because you’d’ve needed every second of it, I swear.” She set the glasses down on her coffee table with wobbling hands and motioned for him to sit on the very soft couch. “How are you?”

“It changes,” He shrugged. “I’m alright, right now.”

“Oh, good,” She said. “And Stephanie? Have you seen her?”

“A coupla times, I’m not ready to go home yet,” He said.

“Well, that girl will wait for you as long as the sun shines,” She told him.

“Sounds longer in Florida,” He replied.

“That it is,” Hannah agreed. “Why are you here?”

“To see my kid sister,” He said. “To ask her about her life, figure out what I missed.”

“What was taken from you,” She insisted. And then she launched into the story. Tommy broke her heart not long after Bucky left, and then her heart broke for real when her older brother and sister-in-law died fighting Nazis. And she cried, and she ached, and she moved on. There was a nice boy, Jack, who bought her candy and took her dancing. She converted so she could join his proper Presbyterian family. Jack held her when they buried Pa. She was pregnant with her and Jack’s first baby when they buried Ma. Jack got a job in the midwest, and Brooklyn had too many bad memories, so they left. She became a teacher and then a school principal. She had three kids, and seven grandkids and her fourth great-grandkid were on the way. Jack died of a sick heart, and she buried him in Nebraska before deciding that she wanted to travel the world. She settled down in Naples, Florida, because it was a hell of a lot cheaper than Naples, Italy. The kids sometimes visited, two of them considering retirement as well. 

“I’m glad my good health got me to hold on as long as it did so I could see you one last time, James,” She said. “I would’ve thrown a fit if I got to the pearly gates and found out you were back here.”

“Wouldn't have ended up there anyway,” He said morosely. Hannah slapped his arm. It barely hurt, but the message was clear. He looked at her apologetically, and her glare softened.

“You know what you need to do?” Hannah asked Bucky. He shrugged. “Once your done on this road trip and you’ve seen all us girls again, you need to go buy Stephanie some flowers that you never would’ve been able to afford back in forty-something, and you need to show her you love her.”

“She knows that, Hannah,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, but the _showin’_ is important,” She said with a wink and a hearty guffaw. Bucky looked at her in the same horror any brother does when his little sister’s talking about sex, even though she’s eighty-seven. He’s probably thirty minus all the ice.

He left Moorings Park after Hannah insisted on feeding him until he was full, and he spent the night at a camping site right outside Lake Okeechobee. One sister was done, two more to go. Joanna was on the other side of the country in California. If it took him about a week to get to Florida, it was going to take two to get to California.

* * *

He stopped over at the Apalachicola National Forest for a few days. Then he passed through New Orleans and Baton Rouge to spend the night at Kisatchie and camp in the swelteringly humid bayou. There weren’t a lot of good camping sites in west Texas, but he found an abandoned ranch outside Austin that would give him a night’s cover. A nightmare and some stumbling in to clear his head turned one night into three when he realized he had been walking down a dirt road to nowhere for a full day while missions replayed in his head. The forests and grasslands gave way to the deserts. He found himself in a completely different Odessa, one that was surrounded by yellow sand and was in a basin where cliffs wouldn’t be around for miles. He needed some new memories in Odessa. So, he spent two days wandering around the town, trying to find the thirty-seven jackrabbit statues the locals had set up for some odd reason. It was strangely satisfying and incredibly stupid, but now Odess was “jackrabbit city in Texas” in his mind first and foremost, and not where he put a bullet through Romanova’s gut.

He made a diagonal through New Mexico, stopping more than he should because he’d never gone hiking in a desert so pretty before. He ended up in the four corners of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah before slicing his way across Northern Arizona and visiting the Grand Canyon. It made everything seem so small. Something was satisfying about looking small and impermanent. Everything that he was suffering, all the pain he caused, all the problems that kept him up at night, there was nothing compared to this giant crack in the surface of the Earth. It was here a million years ago, and a million years from today, it would still be here.

He skipped Las Vegas altogether and arced his way south through Death Valley. He ended up in Los Angeles, where Joanna Barnes had moved sixty years ago in hopes of becoming a famous actress. She never graced the silver screen, like her star-spangled sister-in-law. Instead, she found herself becoming a personal assistant, and then the wife of a movie producer, and then a producer herself. She lived in San Clemente with her only son and his family, which took care of her in her later years. The last time he had seen Joanna, she was dating a young man named Simon, who she had plans to marry. They had a son together before he was shipped off to the Korean war and never came home. She remarried the movie producer twenty years later, but they never had any children of their own. 

He found the sprawling homes in the hills above San Clemente and made his way to the front door. He pressed the doorbell, which was right beside the “no soliciting” sign. The door was opened by a cautious-looking middle-aged woman.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I’m here to see Joanna Barnes,” He said. “I’m her brother, James.”

“Her brother? But she’s-” Then the woman’s eyes widened in realization. “I’ll take you to her room.”

The house was large, but not lavish, and clearly well-lived in by Joanna’s son and his family.

“Ma?” The woman asked. Based on her age and appearance, Bucky assumed that she was the woman who married Joanna Barnes’ sole son. “You have a visitor.” She peered inside and saw something that satisfied her. The woman turned to Bucky, still with caution and apprehension behind her eyes, “She had a stroke four months ago. She’s recovering well, but she’s not very talkative.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. The woman pushed open the door and led him inside. Joanna was sitting in a large bed, with a book in her lap. She looked up at him in realization.

“Hey, Jo,” He said with a smile and a wave.

She pointed furiously at the chair beside her bed, and she ducked his head and sat down. She stared at him with wide eyes, searching his face, confirming it was him. She grabbed his right hand with one of her small, frail, spotted ones and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Good to see you, too,” He told her.

She broke into a gummy smile and slowly reached up and patted his cheek.

* * *

He left San Clemente the next morning. The only place left to go was Brooklyn. If he drove there straight, without stopping, it would take him two full days. He wanted to walk around in the wilderness, sleep in the truck, and read books. So he didn’t go to Brooklyn straight away in a two-day drive. He headed up through California, Nevada, and Idaho in a three-day trek with plenty of stops, and he found himself in Wyoming at Yellowstone National Park. He spent four days hiking, reading, and sleeping beneath the stars at Yellowstone before getting back on the road. He cut his way through the midwest to New York. A day got him through Wyoming. Two days through Nebraska. Iowa was one day. Illinois and Indiana blurred together. He drove through the north edge of Ohio along Lake Erie. He spent the rest of the weekend in Allegheny National Forest. Monday morning, he finished Pennsylvania and New Jersey and was back in New York that afternoon. He parked the pickup and found his way to the apartment where Cora and Alpine had been staying. It was late June.

He knocked on the door. It opened, and Cora was standing there with her hair piled up on her head and a grin spreading across her cheeks. They ate reheated Chinese food, and he relayed his travels. He talked about Hannah and Joanna, his nightmares, his sister’s advice. Cora nodded and listened and didn’t say much, just let him talk. Alpine realized he was home and spent fifteen minutes rubbing up against his leg. He finally scooped her into his arms and held her to his chest while he finished telling the story.

When it was Cora’s turn to talk, the dull buzz of her voice helped ground him. She spoke of her new job, her coworkers, her assignments. She mostly read through first drafts and decided to scrap or accept what the actual editors would start to look at. She also did a lot of coffee running and paper pushing.

“When are you going to see Stephanie?” She asked, looking up at him innocently.

“After I see Becca,” He told her. “And when I’m ready.”

“It’s been three months,” She said.

“And I may need more time, Cora,” He said. “Sometimes I’m here, and I’m alright. Other times, my head’s back in Ukraine or Kazakhstan, and I’m killing people. Other times, I’m in a basement somewhere in Serbia, having the shit beat outta me. Reality isn’t always real in my head. Sometimes, I want to work on it and get better. Other times, I want to run until I can’t crawl an inch further, and I don’t want to leave Stephanie again. If I go see her, I’m promising to her that I’m going to be around. And I’m not there yet.”

“Well, you need a job,” Cora said unhelpfully. “That helps, right? A routine.”

“I guess.”

“The Home Depot two blocks over is hiring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! As always, I appreciate your feedback, especially comments.


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